a 
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Jb&kt, 1.81 C 

MODERN PUBLICATIONS, 

AND 

NEW EDITIONS 

OF 

VALUABLE STANDARD WORKS, 

rniNTEi) for 

M. CAREY, Xo. 121, CHESNUT STREET, 
PHILADELPHIA, 



VOYAGES, TRAVELS, GEOGRAPHY, AND 
TOPOGRAPHY. 

A TOUR THROUGH ITALY, exhibiting a view of its SCENERY, 
its ANTIQUITIES, and its MONUMENTS; particularly as thev are OF5- 
JECTS of CLASSICAL INTEREST and ELUCIDATION : with an ac- 
count of the present statt of its Cities and Towns; and occasional obser- 
vations on the recent spoliations of the French. 

By the Rev. JOHN CHETYVODE EUSTACE. 
In 2 vols. 8vo. with 10 plates. 

"This is one of the best books of travels that has appeared since we be- 
gan our labours." Ed. Rev. Xo. XLU. p. 378. 

"Mr. Eustace is endowed with all the natural and acquired gifts and ad- 
vantages, which fitted him for intimately knowing Italy and Italians." 

Monthly Review, Feb. p. 114. 

•* His religious sentiments and political principles are equally liberal." 

Quart '>rln Review, JYb. XIX. p. 22.7. 

" His descript:on of local scenery is unrivalled." Crit. Rev. JLii/, p. 49. 

"His classical taste displays itself with peculiar advantage and uncommon 
felicity." Quurterly Review, JVb. XIX. p. 241. 

" His style is pure and flowing." British & itie, April, p. 399. 

"This is a work that no person projecting a tour to Italy can hereafter be 
without." British Review, No. X. p. 391. 

"It is a manual and guide to the whole country; all Mr. Eustace's read- 
ing, all his inquiries, ail bis endeavours, appear to have been devoted to 
the stud) of this glorious theatre of ancient and modern exploits; his vigi- 
lance is ever on the alert; his reasoning is unobstructed by prejudice ; and 
Ids work will improve the heart, while it interests the understanding." 

Mon. Rev. p. 116. 

" The philosopher, the poet, and the orator, may alike profit by the re- 
flections, the descriptions, and the style with which this elegant Tourist has 
adorned and enriched his communications." Brit. Rev. J\'o. X.p.oQl. 

SCRIPTURE ATLAS, containing 10 4to. ?>Iaps, viz. 1. Journeyings of 
the Children of Israel from Rameses to the Land of Promise ; 2. Map of Ca- 
naan as promised to Abraham and his posterity ; 3. Map of Egypt; 4. Map 
of the places recorded in the five Books of Moses ; 5. Map of Canaan in the 
>f Joshua; o. Map of the purveyorships in the Reign of Solomon; 
7. Syria and Assyria ; 8. Map of the Dominions of Solomon ; 9. Map of the 
Land of Moriah, or Jerusalem and the adjacent country ; 10. Map of the 
Travels of the Apostles. Price 150 ceuts half bound, 

A 



%* 



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2 PRINTED FOR M. CAREY, PHILADELPHIA. 

THE AMERICAN MINOR ATLAS ; 4to. containing the same Maps 
as the preceding. Price 150 cents, half bound. 

PERSONAL NARRATIVE of Travels to the EQUINOCTIAL RE- 
GIONS of the NEW CONTINENT between the years 1799^-1804. Bv 
ALEXANDER DE HUMBOLDT, and AIME BONPLAND. Written in 
French, By ALEXANDER DE HUMBOLDT. 

And translated into English by HELEN MARIA "WILLIAMS. 
In 8vo. Price 250 cents in Boards. 

" We congratulate the present age on having produced a traveller, armed 
at all points, and completely accomplished tor the purpose of physical, 
moral, and political observation. In M. De Humboldt we have an astrono- 
mer, a physiologist, a botanist, one versed in statistics, and political econo- 
my ; a metaphysician, an antiquary, and a learned philologist — possessing 
at the same time the enlarged views, the spirit, and the tone of true phi- 
losophy. This assemblage of acquirements, so seldom found in the same 
individual, is in him accompanied with the most indefatigable activity ; with 
the zeal, the enterprise, and the vigour which are necessary to give them 
their full effect." Edinburgh Rev. jYov. 1814. 

TRAVELS in the INTERIOR of BRAZIL ; preceeded by an account 
of a voyage to the Riode la Plata. By JOHN MAWS, 

Author of a Treatise on the Mineralogy of Derbyshire. In 1 vol. 8vo. illus- 
trated with plates, and a map. Price 3 dollars in boards. 

%* The principal part of this work relates to the interior of Brazil, where 
no Englishman was ever before permitted to travel, and particularly to 
the Gold and Diamond districts, which he investigated by order of the 
Prince Regent of Portugal. From the high sanction under which he began 
the undertaking, and the length of time he devoted to it, his narrative may 
he expected to throw considerable light on a rich and extensive colony, 
hitherto little explored, and at present highly interesting, 

" Of the knowledge, sagacity, skill and experience of this author as a 
mineralogist, we have before had the most honourable testimony, and this 
production cannot fail to add considerably to his reputation. It has also 
much of the recommendation of novelty, for the state of the mines of Bra- 
zil, and of the agriculture of the country, has hitherto been very imper- 
fectly known ; there is also perhaps in this volume, the most satisfactory 
account which we have hitherto had, of the unfortunate expedition against 
Buenos Avres, by General Whitelocke, and the causes of its failure are im- 
partially detailed', and perspicuously explained: altogether we consider tbe 
•work as a valuable addition to our geographical collections, and more par- 
ticularly acceptable, as exhibiting what has not yet appeared in any En- 
glish publication, a scientific account of the diamoud mines and diamond 
svorks of this part of South America." Britisk Critic, June, 1813. 

A JOURNEY through PERSIA, ARMENIA and ASIA MINOR, to 
CONSTANTINOPLE, in the years 180S and 1809, in which is included 
Borne account of the proceedings of MIS MAJESTY'S MISSION under 
MR HARFORD JONES, Bait K. C. to the Court of the lung ol Persia. 
By JAMES MOR1ER, 
His Majesty's Secretary of Embassy to the Court of Persia. 
' In 1 vol. 8vo. with plates, and a Map. 
Price 3 dollars in boards. 
"In the elegant work of Mr. Morier, we have an interesting report of the 
last pfthe English Embassies, under Sir Harford Jones. As Persia lias not 
been described by an Englishman Since the civil wars that followed the usur- 
pation of Nadir Shah, our curiosity was powerfully excited by the anounce- 
m-nt of Mr. Morier's work; and we can unreservedly declare that ni its 
have been abundantly gratified." Monthly Magazine , 1*13. 



VOYAGES, TRAVELS, GEOGRAPHY, &c 3 

AX ACCOUNT of a VOYAGE to ABYSSINIA, and TRAVELS in 
the INTERIOR of that COUNTRY, executed under the orders of the 
British government, in the rears 1S09 and 1810 ; in which are included an 
account of the PORTUGUESE SETTLEMENTS on the EASTERN" 
COAST of AFRICA, visited in the course of the voyage ; a concise sum- 
oi lute occurrences in Arabia Felix ; and some particulars respect- 
ing the Aboriginal African Tribes, extending Trom Mozambique to the 
borders of Egypt, together with vocabularies of their respective languages. 
' By HENRY SALT, Esq. F. R. S. &c. 
In 1 vol. 8vo. with a Map of Abyssinia. 
Price §2 75 cents in boards. 

" Mr. Salt was already known to the public as the companion of Lord 
Valentia, in his Eastern Travels, and this account of a new voyage to Abys- 
sinia has exalted and established his reputation as a sensible traveller, an 
writer, and an able draughtsman.*' .Monthly JMagazine. 

'• Tiiis work will tend more than any that has hitherto been published, to 
familiarize the reader with that interesting portion of Africa. 

" Mr. Salt's Antiquarian and Historical Researches are of a character 
that will entitle him to a high rank in the class of Literaiy Travellers ; and 
his conjectures appear to us, to be often singularly happy. 

" He appeal's to be singularly zealous in the pursuit of his object?, and 

indefatigably active in the attainment of them. An union of firmness and 

temper, of quickness in receiving, and tenacity of retaining impressions, with 

critical acumen in sifting, and soundness of judgment in discriminating be- 

thorn, constitutes the basis of a traveller's most important accomplish- 

; and all these we fairly ascribe to Mr. Salt, in a degree by no means 

i mon or frequent." jlo/U/ily Review. 

Mr. Salt's mode of instruction merits the gratitude of all students of sa* 

J literature." 

Literary Panorama. 
CAREY'S GENERAL ATLAS, improved. Being a collection of MAPS 
of the WORLD and QUARTERS, their Kingdoms, States, kc. contain- 
ht folio Map?, handsomely coloured. 1. The World ; 2. ditto. 
tor's projection ; .3. North America; 4. The British Possessions in 
America ; 5. The United States ; 6. Vermont ; 7. New-Hampshire ; 8, 
9. Massachusetts; 10. Rhode-Island ; 11. Connecticut ; 12. New - 
York; 13. New-Jersey ; 14. Pennsylvania; 15. Delaware ; 16. Maryland ; 
17. Virginia; 18. North-Carolina ; 10. South-Carolina; 20. Georgia ; 21. 
Kentucky ; 22. Tennessee ; 23. The Mississippi Territory ; 24. Ohio ; 25. 
North Western, Michigan, Illinois, and Indiana Territories ; 20. The 
State of Louisiana; 27. The Missouri Territory ; 28. Seven Ranges of Town- 
ships laid out by Congress ; 29. Mexico ; 30. The West Indies ; 31. The 
firench part of St. Domingo ; 32. South America ; 33. Caracas ; 34. Peru ; 
S5. Chili and the rice-royalty of La Plata ; 36. Brazil ; 37. Europe ; 38. Swe- 
den, Denmark, and Norway ; 39. -Russia; 40. Scotland ; 41 . England and 
V ales ; 42. Ireland ; 4.3. United Provinces and Netherlands ; 44. Germany ; 
45. France, divided into Departments ; 46. Hungary and Turkey in Europe ; 
47. Spam and Portugal ; 48. Italy ; 49. Switzerland ; 50. Poland ; 51. Asia ; 
52. China ; 53. Hindostan ; 54. Islands and Channels between China and New- 
Holland ; 55. New South Wales, with NorfoTk Island, Lord Howe's Island, 
Port Jackson, &c. ; 56. Africa; 5 7. Countries round the North Pole : 58. 
Captain Cook's Discoveries. 

Price 15 dollars, handsomely half bound. 

A VOYAGE TO THE DEMERARY, containing a statistical account of 
tne settlements there, and of those on the Essequebo, the Berbice, and other 
contiguous Rivers of Guyana. By HENRY BOLINGBROKE Esn. 

Iu Svo. Price 150 cents in boards. 






4 PRINTED FOR M. CAREY, PHILADELPHIA. 

SKETCHES, HISTORICAL and DESCRIPTIVE, of LOUISIANA 
By Major AMOS STODDARD, Member of the U. S. M. P. S. 

and of the New York Historical Society. 
In Svo. Price 3 dollars, in boards. 

"This volume is divided into fourteen chapters, comprehending the his- 
tory of Louisiana and the Florid as ; their geography, government, laws, 
commerce, and manufactures, learning and religion. The character of the 
Louisianians, the state of slavery amongst them, the antiquities, the river.s, 
and mineral riches <4f that country ; a description of the aborigines, and the 
arguments in favour of the conjecture that this country was settled by end- - 
gration from Wales, anterior to the discovery of Columbus, conclude the 
volume. 

" The style, although it assumes the character of humble narrative, is 
pure and chaste, and we cordially congratulate the author on the hardihood 
of character he has assumed, for such undoubtedly it is, in the present day, 
to be so unelassieal as to write common sense. He shows himself to oe a 
master of the materials that he manages, and, while conversing with his 
page, we have found ourselves seated with him by the side of solitary riv- 
ers, plunging into the glooms of inextricable wildernesses, or climbing the 
heights of desart mountains, instead of forgetting all these and admiring the 
brilliancy of a paragraph. We wished to explore the regions of Louisia- 
i>a : and by the light of his lamp we have explored them." Port Folio. 

TRAVELS THROUGH 1 HE CAN ADAS, containing a description of 
the picturesque scenery of some of the Rivers and Lakes, with an account 
of the Productions, Commerce and Inhabitants of those Provinces. 
BY GEORGE HERIOT, ESQ. 
In 12mo. Price 1 dollar, in boards. 
" Altogether we deem it one of the most curious publications that has of 
late appeared." Monthly Mag. 

CAREY'S AMERICAN POCKET ATLAS, containing 23 Maps, viz. I. 
United States ; 2. Vermont ; 3. New-Hampshire \ 4. Maine ; 5. Massachu- 
setts; ft. Rhode-Island ; 7. Connecticut; 8. New-York ; 9. New-Jersey ; 10. 
Pennsylvania ; 11. Delaware ; 12. Ohio ; 13. Maryland ; 14. Virginia ; 15. Ken- 
tucky • lfi. North-Carolina ; 17. Tennessee ; 18. South-Carolina ; 19- Geor- 
cia ;' 20. Mississippi Trrrkorv ; 21. Upper Territories of the United States; 
22. Louisiana; 23. Missouri' Territory i With a BRIEF DESCRIPTION 
of each STATE and TERRITORY. A 'so the Census of the Inhabitants 
of the United States for 1810, and the Exports for 20 years. 

4th. edition, greatly improved and enlarged. Price 2 dollars, bound. 

•' Much useful, geographical, and miscellaneous information is compressed 
into this pocket volume, and with the Maps it will be found a very convenient 
!6ok for persons in general, and more particularly for those who are travel- 
ing in the United States. It is well printed, and the maps are neat) 
cuted." American Review and Literary Journal 

THE STRANGER'S GUIDE through PHILADELPHIA, containing 
a plan of the City, with an alphabetical list of all the Squares, Streets, Roads, 
Lanes, Allevs, Avenues, Courts, Ship-Yards, Public Buildings kc. in the 
City and Suburbs. By JOHN ADEMS PAXTON. 

In 12ino. Price 150 cents, handsomely halt' bound. 

SHEET MAPS of EUROPE, ASIA, AFRICA, aud the Kingdoms into 
which they are divided. 

Price 50 cents each, coloured. 
ATLAS MINIMUS, or a new set of POCKET MATS of various 
EMPIRES, KINGDOMS, and STATES, with Geographical extracts 
relative to each. Drawn and Engraved by J. GIBSON. 

In 18mo. Price 1 dollar, half bound. 



MISCELLANEOUS, 9 

A GENERAL ATLAS, being a collection of MAPS of tlic WORLD and 
QUARTERS, their principal Empires, Kingdoms, kc. Containing 58 
Maps and Charts, viz. 1. The World ; 2. ditto Mercator's projection - r 3. 
North America ; 4. United States ; 5. Eastern States, with part of Canada ; 
;"i. Middle ami Western States ; 7. Southern States ; 8. North Western 
Territories ; 9. Vermont ; 10. New-Hampshire ; 11. Maine; 1*2. Massachu- 
setts ; 13. Rhode-Island ; 14. Connecticut ; 15. New-York ; 16. New-Jersey ; 
17. Pennsylvania; 13. Delaware ; 10. Maryland; 20. Virginia ; 21. NorcV 
Carohna ; 22. South-Carolina ; 23. Georgia; 24. Kentucky; 25. Tennessee ; 
26. Mississippi Territory ; 27. Ohio: 28. Upper Territories ; 29. Louisiana ; 
rj. Missouri Territory; 51. West Indies; 32. Chart of do. ; 33. SoiuUi 
America; 34. Europe; 35. Russia, Northern Part; 3C. Southern do ; 37. 
Sweden, Denmark, Norway ; 38. Poland ; S9. Scotland ; 40. England and 
Wales ; 41. Ireland ; 42. Netherlands ; 43. United Provinces ; 44. Ger- 
many ; 45. France ; 46. .Switzerland ; 47. Italy; 48. Spain and Portugal , 
49. Turkey in Europe; 50. North Sea; 51. A>i;t ; 52. Hindostau ; 53. 
Turkey in Asia ; 54. Islands between China and New Holland ; 55. New 
South Wales ; 56. Africa ; 57. Countries round the North Pole ; 5S. Cap* 
tain Cook's Discoveries. Iu 4to. Price 5 dollars, half bound. 

SHEET MAPS of the UNIT ED STAT E5, and of all the STATES and 
TERRITORIES ; SOUTH AMERICA, Brazil, Chili, Peru, Caracas, fce. 
Price 75 cents each, coloured; 
THE TRAVELLERS DIRECTORY ; or, a POCKET COMP ANION" 
Shewing the course of the Main Road from Philadelphia to New York, and 
from Philadelphia to Washington, with descriptions of the places through 
which it passes, and the intersections of the cross roads. Illustrated with an 
account of such remarkable objects as are generally interesting to travellers. 
From actual survey. By S. S. MOORE and T." W. JONES. 
Second Edition. In 8vo. Price 2 dollars, bound. 

" The design and contents of this volume are fully expressed in the title 
page. The work is handsomely, and we believe, correctly executed. Every 
traveller on those roads will find it a useful and instructive companion. The 
plan of this directory is so judicious, that we hope the authors may find it 
for their interest to extend it to other parts of the United States. 

timet. Rev. and Lit. Jour. 

PARIS RE-VISITED IN 1815, by way of Bruits— including a walk 
over the field of Waterloo. By JOHN SCOT T, author of "A Visit to 
Paris in 1814." 

In 12mo. price one dollar io hoard . 

MISCELLANEOUS 

MEMOIRS OF MADAME LA MARQUISE BE LA ROCHE JA-- 
QUELEIN. In Svo. With a Map. 

" As a Book of Memoirs, containing an account nearly satisfactory of im 
portant public transactions mixed with minute details of private incidents or 
concerns, and of the personal feelings of the Narrator, it is, in our opinion, by 
iar the most interesting work that lias lately appeared. It more powerfully 
engages our sympathies than the narratives of La Bourne or Rocca, though it 
has none of their pretensions to science, eloquence, or fine writing. For vi- 
gour of representation and delicacy of remark, it reminds us of Sully's Ac- 
count of the Wars of the League, while both the nature of the objects des- 
cribed, and the freshness of the description, recall sometimes the scenes, the 
military groups, and the clannish chiefs of Waverly. 

British Review. See also Edinburg Review, 



^IhI 






6 PRINTED FOR M. CAREY, PHILADELPHIA. 

THE COLONIAL POLICY OF GREAT BRITAIN, considered with 
relation to her north American provinces, and West India Possessions ; 
wherein the nANuEROus tenoenct of American competition is attempted 
to be developed, and the necessity of re-commencing a Colonial System on a 
vigorous and extensive scale, exhibited and defended : with plans for the pro- 
motion ef Emigration, and STRICTURES on the TREATY of GHENT. 
By a British Traveller. 
In 12mo. Price one dollar in boards. 

*** The a'arming views of the relations, present and future, between the 
Uniied States and Great Britain, which are developed in this work, have im- 
pressed the American publisher with the idea that it could not fail to be useful 
1 o re -print and disseminate it here. It merits the most serious attention of the 
legislators and politicians of this nation. Should the policy it advocates be 
unfortunately adopted by Great Britain, there will be an imperious necessity 
for measures of counteraction. 

The CONGRESS OF VIENNA. By the ABBE DE PRADT, au- 
thor of the "History of the Mission to Warsaw," Sec. Sec. Translated 
from the French. 

J :i 8vo. Price 150 cents in boards. 

* * To those who would look into futurity, and see the probable results of 
die Congress of Vienna, the recent work of M. De Pradt will be an acceptable 
wand It will enable the inquisitive politician to judge, with some reasonable 
accuracy, whether the present condition of Europe bo settled, on a peace or a 
vj ar establishment. 

ESSAYS ON BANKING. By M. CAREY. 

In 12mo. Price 1 dollar bound. 
An INQUIRY concerning the RISE and PROGRESS, the REDEMP- 
TION and PRESENT STATE, and the MANAGEMENT of the NA- 
TIONAL DEBT of GREAT BRITAIN. 

By ROBERT HAMILTON, L. L. D. F. R. S, E. 
From the 2d London Edition. 
In 8vo. Price 175 cents in boards. 
" Dr. Hamilton has performed a most important service to his country, by 
directing the public attention to just views of this interesting subject. 

" Wehave now stated the principal doctrines of this interesting publication. 
They are widely different from the opinions which have been hitherto preva- 
lent, and which are sanctioned by the authority of great names : but they are 
supported by arguments which appear so convincing, and they lead to practi- 
cal conclusions of such importance, that we trust they will be patiently and 
thoroughly canvassed ; and we have no apprehension that the result will be 
unfavorable either to the author or his reviewer. While he condescends to in- 
struct the young student in the first principles of this important subject, lie 
opens views which deserve the attention of the most experienced statesman, 

Edinburgh Review. 

The DECLINE and FALL of the ROMAN EMPIRE. 
By EDWARD GIBBON. 

t Second American Edition. In 8 volumes, 8vo. 
Price 25 dollars bound. 

RULES AND REGULATIONS for the SWORD EXERCISE of the 
CAVALRY. By JOHN HEAVES. 

With 28 plates. In 8vo. Price 250 cents, bound. 
INSTRUCTIONS FOR THE DRILL, and the method of performing 
the Nineteen Manoeuvres. By Lieut. JOHN RUSSELL. 

With 33 plates. In 1'^mo. Price 125 cents, in boards. 
THE AMERICAN MISCELLANY. Prose and verse OrigmaJ arftl 
Selected. In 2 vols. 12mo. Priee 2 dollars, bound*. 



» 



MISCELLANEOUS. ? 

DR. RUSSEL'S HISTORY OF MODERN EUROPE, continued down 
to the Treaty of Amiens in 1802. 

By CHARLES COOTE, L. I,. D. 

The large annual impressions, which for more than thirty years were cal- 
led for to supply the demand for this excellent Work in England, may be 
considered conclusive evidence of its merits in the public estimation. During 
the author's life time, each succeeding edition was improved by himself: — ■ 
he lived to make it a perfect Compendium of Modern History, and has left 
it an honourable monument of his fame and talents. 

Tins work contains A Hrief View of the Decline and Fall of the Roman 
Empire. The Uise of Modern Kingdoms generally. A particular History ot 
the French Monarchy. A particular History of Spain from the Dominion ot* 
the Visigoths. Italy, with the rise and progress of the Temporal power of the 
Popes. Britain — from its relinquishment by the Romans. Ireland. The 
German Empire — from Charlemagne. The Empire of Constantinople — till 
its overthrow. Emwre of the Arabs. Rise and progress of the Turks, and 
fall of the Creek Empire. History of Portugal. View of the Progress of Navi- 
gation. Conquests in the East and West Indies. Discovery of America, &c. 
History of Sweden, Denmark, Norway, Russia, Poland, and Prussia. >»ortli 
America — as connected with European History. The rise, progress, and ter- 
mination of the Revolutionary War of this Country. The progress and im- 
mense aggrandizement of the British power in India. The Wars of the 
French Revolution till the Treaty of Amiens. A very comprehensive and 
highly useful Chronology. 
"Third American edition. In 5 vols. Svo. Price 15 dollars, Bound. 

MEMOIRS he. of GENERAL MOREAU, with a fac simile of his 
last letter to his wife, and an engraved plan of the passage of the Rhine 
at Strasbourg. By JOHN PHILIPPAR T, Esq. 

author of " Memoirs of Bernadotte," &c. &c. In Svo. Price 2 dollars, in 
boards. 

" A faithful account is here given of the campaigns in Germany and Italy 
since 1794, as far as they relate to the operations of General Moreau ; aiso, 
a detailed account of the siege of Kehl, and the movements immediately pre- 
vious and subsequent to that event, from the celebrated work by General 
Dedon, published at Paris, and which is illustrated by a most correct map, 
describing every operation at the siege of Kehl, as well as the passage of the 
Rhine, effected by General Moreau in the environs of Strasbourg. 

" These, and every other event, connected with the public and private 
life of General Moreau, the author has drawn together, and embodied witn 
the utmost fidelity and circumspection.'' Eur. Mug. March, IS 14. 

NAVAL HISTORY of the UNITED STATES, from the commence- 
ment of the REVOLUTIONARY WAR. By THOMAS CLARK. 
2nd. edition. In 2 vols. 12mo. Price 2 dollars, is boards. 

AN ACADEMY FOR GROWN HORSEMEN. Containing the com." 
pletest Instructions for Walking, Trotting, Cantering. Galloping, Stun." 
bling, and Tumbling. By GEO PREY GAMBADO, Esq. 
Riding Master, Master of the Horse, and Grand Equerry to the Doge of 
Venice. 

Embellished with 12 Caricatures, from designs by Bunlury. In 12mo. 
Price 75 cents, in boards. 

u To turn and w ind a fiery Pegasus, 

" And witch the world with noble Horsemanship." 

"With great delight do we hail this satisfactory republication of a work 
originally published before our critical existence, but always the source of 
hearty merriment and gratification to us. The singular and truly original 
humour of the writing, and the unrivalled burlesque of the plates, have al- 
ways made these books prime favourites, with ali wdio had any relish for 
harmless wit and satire, by which no individual is hurt, Brit. Crit. 



1 






1816, 






8 PRINTED FOR M. CAREY, PHILADELPHIA. 

THE PARIS SPECTATOR ; or, L'HERMITE DE LA CHAUSSEE 

D'ANTIN. Containing Observations upon PARISIAN MANNERS and 
CUSTOMS at the Commencement of the Nineteenth Century. Translated 
irom the French, By WILLIAM JERDAN. 

In 3 vols. ISmo. Price 225 cents, in Boards. 
This lively and entertaining View of the State of Society in Paris, at the 
most eventful period of its annals, obtained great celebrity in that City, and 
has been unanimously accorded a high rank among the periodical productions 
of French literature. Tbe amusements, annoyances, pleasures, and discom- 
forts of a Paris fashionable life, are sketched with a humorous and witty 
hand ; nor has there ever issued from the press of that country, a more ani- 
mated and close imitation of our own exquisite Spectator. 

" For those who are disinclined or unable to go and make the tour of 
Palis, we know of no better fire-side telescope, (or rather camera obscu- 
Wi,) for viewing it, than that which is presented in the. panoramic sketches 
of the Paris Spectator." Eur. Mag. 

T^R OLIVE BRANCH j or, FAULTS ON BOTH SIDES, FED- 
, and DEMOCRATIC A serious Appeal on the Necessity oj mu- 
po-irfness and Harmony. By M. CAREY, 
nth edition, enlarged, in 8vo. Price 275 cent's, handsomely bound. 

K\i RECORDER; or, an AWFUL BEACON to the 
RISING FENERATION ofboth Sexes, erected by tbe arm of Justice to 
persuade them from the dreadful Miseries of Guilt. Collected from au- 
thentic documents, By A FRIEND OF MAN. With 6 Engravings. 
In 12mo. Price 1 dollar, J>ound. 
Extract from the Preface. 
" The object of the editor of this volume, is to present to the heads of 
• b in the United States, select and monitory stories of guilt and misery, 
i tieii may facilitate their precious labours in the domestic scene. 
The guardians, the directors, and the nearest friends of thoughtless childhood, 
and unreflecting youth may find, perhaps, that they cannot procure a more 
ient auxiliary in the performance of those duties on which de- 
pendthe peace of their families, and the reputation and happiness of the 
r objects of their anxious care." 

THE HOUSE CARPENTER'S BOOK of PRICES, and Rules forMea- 
Bttring and Valuing all their different kinds of work. 

In 12ino. IVice 75 cents, half bound. 

THE IMMORTAL MENTOR ; or, MAN'S UNERRING GUIDE to 
a Healthy. Wealthy and Happy life. In 3 parts. 

By LEWIS CORNARO, Dr. FRANKLIN, and Dr. SCOTT. 

Reason's whose pleasure, all the joys of sense 
Lie in three words — Health, Peace, and Competence, 
Blest health consists with temperance alone, 
And Peace, O Virtue ! peace is all thy own. Pope. 

In 12mo. Price 1 dollar, bound. 

A SENTIMENTAL JOURNEY through France and Italy. 

By LAW RE XCE ST E R XE. 

With 6 Engravings. In l8mo. Price 03 cents, bound. 

FARRIERY IMPROVED; or, a complete Treatise on the ART OF 
FARRIERY. Wherein are fully explained the Nature and Structure of 
tliat useful creature, a Horse ; with the Diseases and accidents he is liable 
t<<; and tin; methods of curt:. Exemplified by It) elegant cuts, each the 
full figure of a Horse. Describing all the various parts of that noble an- 

stoat. By HENRY BRACKEN M. 1). 

In 18mo. Piice 50eet\t«, half by rod 









DIVINITY. 9 

REGULATIONS for the ORDER and DISCIPLINE of the TROOPS 
of the UNITIiD STATES. By BARON STEUBEN. 
With plates. Price 50 cents, half bound. 

PRECEDENTS in the OFFICE of a JUSTICE of the PEACE. 
By COLLINSON READ, Esq. 
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THE CLERKS' MAGAZINE and AMERICAN CONVEYANCER'S 
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i 



RECOLLECTIONS 



or 



ITALY, 
ENGLAND AND AMERICA. 



•WltH 



£SSJY8 CW VARIOUS SUBJECTS, 



JK 



MORALS AND LITE11ATTJHE, 



B7 



F. A. DE CHATEAUBRIAND. 



PHILADELPHIA : 
PUBLISHED BY M. CAREY, 

0, 121 CHESNUT-STRKET- 



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CONTENTS. 



RECOLLECTIONS OF ITALY. 

Page. 

Home audits Environs . • • • .17 

Visit to Mount Vesuvius . . 41 

Visit to Mont Blanc 49 

RECOLLECTIONS OF ENGLAND. 

On England and the English • . 65 

English Literature. Young . . . 79 

Shakspxare • 93 

Beattie » . 113 

RECOLLECTIONS OF AMERICA. 
On the Island of Gracioza, one of the Azores 123 

A few words concerning the Cataract oj Canada 130 
Visit to the Country of the Savages • . 132 

A Night among the Savages of America . 138 

Anecdote of a Frenchman who dwelt among the 

Savages . .146 

On Mackenzie's Travels in the Interior ofJSlorth 

America . . . .148 



IV CONTENTS. 

ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS IK LITERATURE 
AND MORALS. 

Letter to M. de Fontanes upon Madame Be Stael- 

Holstein's System of Morals . . 179 

On the Poet Gilbert 203 

Analysis of the work of M. De Bonald, entitled 
" Prim'twe Legislation considered in the latter 
times by the light oj reason alone." 219 

Upon M. MtcharnVs Poem., the Spring of a Pro- 
script . . . . 253 
Upon the History of the Life of Jesus Christ, by 

Father De Ligny . . . 273 

On the JYew Edition of Pollings works . . 286 
On the Memoirs of L,ouis XLF. . . . 298 
On Men of Letters . . « . 318 

Speech composed by M. De Chateaubriand for his 
reception as a Member oj the Imperial Lnstitute 
of France .... 333 

Defence of the Beauties of Christianity , 345 



THE 



EDITOR'S PREFACE. 



IF the reputation of M. de Chateaubriand, already es- 
tablished by works of the greatest merit, has received a 
considerable addition from the Essay on Ancient and 
Modern Revolutions, which we have just published, his 
Recollections of Italy, England and America, with the 
excellent Essays on Literature and Morals that accom- 
pany them, will certainly add to it. 

Throughout this collection will be found those ener- 
getic ideas, that fine imagination, that picturesque colour- 
ing, those ingenious comparisons and original turns of ex- 
pression which impart a peculiar charm to M. de Cha- 
teaubriand's writings. No Author of the present day 
has, like him, attained the art of connecting literature with 
morals, by a style abounding in imagery and rich in sen- 
timents. This happy talent is displayed in every page ? 
and there are even passages, in which it is still more mani- 
fest than in his greater works. 

B 



Several of the detached Essays appeared in the Mer- 
cure de France y between the years 1800 and 1807. The 
Author at this time finished his Beauties of Christianity \ 
and trusted that he had thereby erected a monument to 
the religion of his forefathers. It must be acknowledged 
that, in several parts of this work, he displays a soul fully 
impressed with the perfections of Christianity. His tra- 
vels to Palestine, procured us the poem of The Martyrs t 
and the Itinerary of that country. After his return, M. 
de Chateaubriand would perhaps have determined to re- 
sume his labours in the Mercure, had he not found the 
spirit of that journal entirely altered, and had he not been 
disgusted by the despotism of the French ruler, who wish- 
ed not only to command the writings, but even the con- 
versation and very thoughts of his subjects ; particularly 
of those who were distinguished authors. It is true that 
M. de Chateaubriand had himself praised the despot ; 
but this was at a period when it was still excusable to be 
mistaken as to the real character of Buonaparte. None 
of the enlightened men had penetration enough to pro- 
phecy that the general of the expedition to Egypt would 
be the future opponent to the rights of humanity, and M. 
de Chateaubriand has the further excuse, that when the 
Statesmen and Writers of France began to rival each 
other in meanness, and prostrate themselves at the foct of 
the throne, the Author of the Beauties of Christianity 
ceased to worship the unworthy idol of transient glory, 
recovered by degrees, and silently resumed the noble at- 
titude which belonged to him. It was now the despot's 
turn to humble himself before the greatest writer of his 



XI 



Empire, and he adopted measures to draw M. de Cha- 
teaubriand into the circle of his slaves, but in vain. All 
his power was ineffectual, when exerted to shake the firm 
and noble soul of a simple individual, who was no longer 
to be imposed upon by fictitious grandeur. He was in- 
duced, however, by dint of persuasion, to become a mem* 
ber of the first literary body in France. It was necessary 
that he should make a public oration upon this occasion , 
and it was then that he prepared the eulogium on liberty, 
which will be found in the present publication. His in- 
trepidity astonished the Insitute and Government. He 
was forbidden to deliver his oration, but he was no longer 
importuned for his support, which could palpably never 
be obtained afterwards. From this period his heart, af- 
flicted by the misfortunes of France, and the degradation 
which literature and the arts had experienced, was doom- 
ed to sigh in secret ; but it experienced consolation when 
the tyrant began to lose the power of oppressing and ru- 
ining the nation. Those, who never could have displayed 
the courage of M. de Chateaubriand, thought proper to 
criticize his admirable publication in favour of the Bour- 
bons,* as being a work too strongly betraying the. pas- 
sions of the writer. They would perhaps have written in 
colder blood, because their eyes were then familiarized 
with the horrors which they saw incessantly renewed. 
But can the soul of a great writer remain torpid when li- 
berty dawns upon his unfortunate country ? Would Cice- 
ro and Demosthenes have remained torpid if they had 
been called upon to expose, the one an incendiary's crimes, 

* Of Buonaparte and the Bourbons. 8vo. 1814. 



Xll 

and the other a conquering monarch's artifices and am- 
bition f And what were these subjects in comparison with 
the great interests of the world, which were discussed du- 
ing April 1814, in the capital of France? Cold blooded 
people are often useful ; but still a single energetic man, 
when fired with honest indignation, can effect more than 
thousands of frigid disposition. When the revolution, 
so ardently desired by all those who possessed hearts not 
debased by slavery, was effected, the Political Reflections 
of M. de Chateaubriand were of a calmer nature, and bore 
reference only to the happiness which France was about 
to enjoy under the sway of the Bourbons. 

That happiness has been, alas, of short duration. The 
revolutionary system is re established in France, and M. 
de Chateaubriand has again quitted his country for the 
purpose of following his King, and devoting his pen to 
the instruction of his unfortunate countrymen, by writings 
similar to those of which all Europe acknowledges the 
energetic influence. 

Though M. de Chateaubriand has gained the applause 
of all civilized nations, and though his works have been 
several times printed in his native language, as well as 
translated into almost all the languages of Europe, it is 
nevertheless a fact that in his own country a numerous 
party of calumniators have tried to overwhelm him with 
riticisms, parodies, satires and injuries. It is true that 
hey have not been able to diminish his reputation as an 
Author, but they have succeeded so far as to create in the 
public mind an uncertainty as to the rank which he ought 
to hold iu literature. His imagination is too vivid, and 



Xlll 

sometimes carries away his reason, so that he falls ocea- 
sionally into extravagant expressions, and arguments 
which are more specious than solid. His detractors dwell 
on his slight imperfections, and represents them as consti- 
tuting the foundation of his writings. They do not chuse 
to see that a fine imagination is, in spite of some aberra- 
tions, infinitely superior to all those ordinary minds, the 
productions of which appear wise, because the rules of 
grammar are observed in them, and the ideas of the day ex- 
actly met. Those authors may please, but their reputa- 
tion will not extend beyond the limits of their country 
and age. It is only by taking for their models the su- 
perior beauties of M. de Chateaubriand's style, and a- 
voiding his defects, that they can hope to equal his repu- 
tation, and to excite, like him, the enthusiasm of all who 
possess cultivated minds, 



RECOLLECTIONS 



OF 



ITALY. 



RECOLLECTIONS 



ITALY. 



2BB 



ROME AND ITS ENVIRONS, 

TO MONSIEUR DE FONTANES, 

My dear friend, 

I AM just arrived at Rome from Na- 
ples, and send you all my journey has produced, for yon 
have a right to this all — a few laurel leaves snatched from 
the tomb of Virgil, whom " tenet nunc Parthenope" I 
should long since have given you a description of this 
classic region, but various circumstances have hindered 
me. I will not leave Rome, however, without saying a 
few words about so celebrated a city. We agreed that 
I was to address you without ceremony ; and to tell you 
at a venture whatever impressions were made upon me in 
Italy, as I formerly related to you what ideas I had form- 
ed, while wandering through the solitudes of the New 
World. Without further preamble, then, I will attempt 
to give you an account of the environs of Rome, that is to 
say, the adjacent country and the ruins. 

€ 



18 RECOLLECTIONS OF ITALY. 

You have read all that has been written on this sub- 
ject, but I do not know whether travellers have given you 
a very just idea of the picture, which the Roman territory 
presents. Figure to yourself something of the desolation 
at Tyre and Babylon, as described in scripture — silence 
and solitude as vast as the noise and tumult of men, who 
formerly crowded together on this spot. One may almost 
fancy that the prophet's curse is still heard, when he an- 
nounced that two things should happen on a single day, 
sterility and widowhood.* You see here and there some 
remains of Roman roads, in places where nobody ever 
passes, and some dried-up tracks of winter torrents, which 
at a distance have themselves the appearance of large fre- 
quented roads, but which are in reality the beds of waters, 
formerly rushing onwards with impetuosity, though they 
have now passed away like the Roman nation. It is with 
some difficulty that you discover any trees, but on every 
side you behold the ruins of aqueducts and tombs, which 
appear to be the forests and indigenous plants of this land 
—composed as it is of mortal dust, and the wrecks of em- 
pires. I have often thought that I beheld rich crops in a 
plain, but on approaching them, found that my eye had 
been deceived by withered grass. Under this barren her- 
bage traces of ancient culture may sometimes be discov- 
ered. , Here are no birds, no labourers, no lowing of 
cattle, no villages. A few miserably managed farms ap- 
pear amidst the general nakedness of the country, but the 
windows and doors of the habitations are closed. No 
smoke, no noise, no inhabitant proceeds from them. A 
sort of savage, in tattered garments, pale and emaciated 
by fever, guards these melancholy dwellings, like the 
spectres who defend the entrance of abandoned castles in 
our gpthic legends. It may be said, therefore, that nc 

• Isaiah. 



ROME AND ITS ENVIRONS. 19 

nation has dared to take possession of the country, once 
inhabited by the masters of the world, and that you see 
these plains as they were left by the ploughshare of Cin- 
cinnatus, or the last Roman team. 

It is in the midst of this uncultivated region that the 
eternal city raises her head. Decayed as to her terrestial 
power, she appears to have resolved on proudly isolating 
herself. She has separated herself from the cities of the 
world, and like a dethroned queen, has nobly concealed 
her misfortunes in solitude. 

I should in vain attempt to describe the sensation ex- 
perienced, when Rome suddenly appears to your view 
amidst her inajiia regna, as if raising herself from the 
sepulchre in which she had been lying. Picture to your- 
self the distress and astonishment, which the prophets ex- 
perienced, when God, in a vision, shewed them some 
city, to which he had attached the destiny of his chosen 
people.* The multitude of recollections and the crowd of 
sensations oppress you, so that your very soul is disorder- 
ed at beholding the place — for it is Rome, which has 
twice inherited the empire of the world, first as the heir to 
Saturn, and secondly to Jacob. f 

You will, perhaps, think, from my description, thai 
nothing can be more frightful than the Roman environs ; 
but in this conjecture you would be egregiously mistaken* 
They possess an inconceivable grandeur, and in contem- 

* Ezekiel. 

t Montaigne thus describes the neighbourhood of Rome about 
two centuries ago. 

" We had at a distance, on our left, the Appennines, and the 
prospect of a country by no means pleasant, uneven and full of 
gaps, which would render it difficult to range troops in regular 
order. The country is without trees, and a considerable part of 
it sterile, open on every side, and more than ten miles in circum- 
ference. Like all other .countries too of this description, it is 
?ery thinly inhabited." 



20 RECOLLECTIONS OF ITALY. 

plating them, you would be always ready to exclaim with 
Virgil: 

Salve, magna fiarens fruguniy Saturnia tellus y 
Magna virum !* 

If you view them as an economist, they will displease 
you, but if you survey them as an artist, or a poet, or a 
philosopher, you will perhaps not wish them to be alter- 
ed. The sight of a corn-field or a vineyard would not 
cause such strong emotions in your mind as that of a 
country, where modern culture has not renovated the soil, 
and which may be said to have become as purely antique 
as the. ruins which cover it. 

Nothing is so beautiful as the lines of the Roman 
horizon, the gentle inclination of the plains, and the soft 
flying contour of the terminating mountains. The valleys 
often assume the form of an arena, a circus, or a riding- 
house. The hills are cut in terraces, as if the mighty 
hand of the Romans had moved the whole land at plea- 
sure. A peculiar vapour is spread over distant objects, 
which takes off their harshness and rounds them. The 
shadows are never black and heavy ; for there are no mass- 
es so obscure, even among the rocks and foliage, but 
that a little light may always insinuate itself. A singular 
tint and most peculiar harmony unite the earth, the sky, 
and the waters. All the surfaces unite at their extremi- 
ties by means of an insensible gradation of colours, and 
without the possibility of ascertaining the point, at which 
one ends, or another begins. You have doubtless admir- 
ed this sort of light in Claude Lorrain's landscapes. It 
appears ideal and still more, beautiful than nature ; but it 
is the light of Rome. 

* Hail, happy land, producing richest fruits, 
And heroes of renown ! 



ROME AND ITS ENVIRONS. ^1 

I did not omit to see the Villa Borghese, and to ad- 
mire the sun as he cast his setting beams upon the cypres- 
ses of Mount Marius or on the pines of Villa Pamphili. 
I have also often directed my way up the Tiber to enjoy 
the grand scene of departing day at Ponte Mole. The 
summits of the Sabine mountains then appear to consist 
of lapis lazuli and pale gold, while their base and sides 
are enveloped in a vapour, which has a violet or purple 
tint. Sometimes beautiful clouds, like light chariots, 
borne on the winds with inimitable grace, make you 
easily comprehend the appearance of the Olympian Dei- 
ties under this mythologic sky. Sometimes ancient 
Rome seems to have stretched into the West all the pur- 
ple of her Consuls and Capsars, and spread them under 
the last steps of the god of day. This rich decoration 
does not disappear so soon as in our climate. When 
you suppose that the tints are vanishing, they suddenly 
re- appear at some other point of the horizon. Twilight 
succeeds to twilight, and the charm of closing day is pro- 
longed. It is . true that at this hour of rural repose, the 
air no longer resounds with bucolic song ; you no long- 
er hear the " dulcia linquimus arva y " but the vic- 
tims of sacred immolation are still to be seen. White 
bulls and troops of half-wild horses daily descend 
to the banks of the Tiber, and quench their thirst with its 
waters. You would fancy yourself transported to the 
times of the ancient Sabines, or to the age of the Arcadi- 
an Evander, when the Tiber was called Albula,* and 
Eneas navigated its unknown stream. 

I will acknowledge without hesitation that the vicini- 
ty of Naples is more dazzling than that of Rome. When 
the blazing sun, or the large red moon rises above Ve- 
suvius, like a body of fire shot from its volcanic crater , 
the bay of Naples, and its banks fringed with oranre- 



Lhy. 



22 RECOLLECTIONS QF ITALY. 

trees, the mountains of Sorrento, the island of Capri, the 
coast of Pozzuoli, Baise, Misene, dimes, Averno, the 
Elysian fields, and all this Virgiiian district, present to 
the view a magic spectacle, but it does not possess the 
imposing grandeur of the Roman territory. It is at least 
certain that almost every one is prodigiously attached to 
this celebrated region. Two thousand years have elaps- 
ed since Cicero believed himself an exile for life, and 
wrote to one of his intimate friends : Urbem, mi Bufi, cole, 
tt in ista luce vive."* The attraction of the lovely Au- 
sonia is still the same. Many examples are quoted of 
travellers, who came to Rome for the purpose of passing 
a few days, and remained there all their lives. Poussin 
could not resist the temptation of residing, till his death, 
in a country which afforded such exquisite landscapes ; 
and at the very moment that I pen this letter, I have the 
pleasure or being acquainted with M. d'Agincourt, who 
has lived here alone for five-and-twenty years, and who 
holds forth fair promise that France will also have her 
Winckelman. 

Whoever occupies himself solely in the study of an- 
tiquities and the fine arts, or whoever has no other ties in 
life, should live at Rome. He will there find, for his so n 
ciety, a district which will nurture his reflections and take 
possession of his heart, with walks, which will always con- 
vey to him instruction. The stone, which he treads 
upon will speak to him, and the dust, which the wind 
blows around him, will be decomposed particles of some 
great human being. Should he be unhappy— should he 
have mingled the ashes of those, whom he loved, with the 

* " It is at Rome that you must live my dear Rufus ; it is that 
luminary which you must inhabit.'* I believe the passage occurs 
in the first or second book of the familiar Epistles ; but as I quote 
from memory, 1 hope that any little mistake in this respect will 
be overlooked. 



ROME AND ITS ENVIRONS. 23 

ashes of the illustrious dead, what placid delight will he 
experience when he passes from the sepulchre of the Scipios 
to the tomb of a virtuous friend, from the superb mausoleum 
of Cecilia Metella to the modest grave of an unfortunate 
woman ! He will fancy that their beloved shades find 
pleasure in wandering round these monuments, with that 
of a Cicero still lamenting his dear Tullia, or an Agrip- 
pina still occupied with the urn of Germanicus. If he be 
a christian, how will he be able to tear himself away from 
this land, which is become his own country — this land, 
which is become the seat of a second empire more sacred* 
and more powerful than the first — this land, where the 
friends, whom we have lost, sleep with saints in their 
catacombs, under the eye of the father of the faithful, ap- 
pearing as if they would be the first who awoke from 
their long sleep, and the nearest to Heaven. 

Though Rome, when internally examined, resembles 
at present, in a great degree, the generality of European 
cities, it still preserves a peculiar character ; for no other 
city affords a similar mixture of architecture and ruins ? 
from the Pantheon of Agrippa to the gothic walls of Be- 
lisarius, or the monuments brought from Alexandria to 
die dome erected by Michael Angelo. The beauty of 
the women is another distinguishing feature. They re- 
cal by their gait and carriage the Cleiias and Cornelia's. 
You might fancy that you saw the ancient statues of Juno 
and Pallas, which had descended from their pedestals, and 
Were walking round their temples. Among the Romans 
too is to be seen that tone of carnation which artists call 
the historic colour, and which they use in their paintings. 
It appears natural that men, whose ancestors played so 
conspicuous a part in the great theatre of the world, should 
have served as models for Raphael and Dorninichino, 
when they represented historical personages, 



24> RECOLLECTIONS OF ITALY. 

Another singularity of the city of Rome is the num* 
ber of goats, and more particularly, large oxen with enor- 
mous horns. The latter are used in teams ; and you will 
find these animals lying at the feet of the Egyptian obe- 
lisks, among the ruins of the Forum, and under the arches* 
through w r hich they formerly passed, conducting the tri- 
umphant Roman to that Captitol which Cicero calls the 
public council of the universe. 

Romanes ad temjila Deum duxere triumfihoa. 

With the usual noise of great cities is here mingled 
the noise of waters heard on every side, as if you were 
near the fountains of Blandusia and Egeria. From the 
summit of the hills, inclosed within the boundaries of 
Rome, or at the extremity of several streets you have a 
view of the fields in perspective, which mixture of town 
and country has a very picturesque effect. In winter the 
tops of the houses are covered with herbage, not unlike the 
old thatched cottages of our peasantry. These combined 
circumstances impart to Rome a sort of rural appearance, 
and remind you that its first dictators guided the plough, 
that it owed the empire of the world to its labourers, and 
that the greatest of its poets did not disdain to instruct the 
children of Romulus in the art of Hesiod. 

Ascrtzumque cano romancfier ofifiida carmen. 

As to the Tiber, which waters, and participates in the 
glory of this city, its destiny is altogether strange. It 
passes through a corner of Rome, as if it did not exist. 
No one deigns to cast his eyes towards it, no one speaks 
of it, no one drinks its waters, and the women do not even 
use it for washing. It steals away between the paltry 
houses which conceal it, and hastens to precipitate itself 
into the sea, ashamed of its modern appellation, Tevere. 



ROME AND ITS ENVIRONS. 25 

I must now, my dear friend, say something of the 
ruins, which you so particularly requested me to mention 
when I wrote to you. I have minutely examined them 
all, both at Rome and Naples, except the temples of Pass- 
turn, which I have not had time to visit. You are aware 
that they assume different characters, according to the 
recollections attached to them. 

On a beautiful evening in July last I seated myself 
at Ccliisee, on a step of the altar dedicated to the suffer- 
ings of the Passion. The sun was setting, and poured 
floods of gold through all the galleries, which had formerly 
been thronged with men; while, at the same time, strong sha- 
dows were cast by the broken corridors and other ruinous 
parts, or fell on the ground in large masses from the lof- 
ty structure. I perceived among the ruins, on the right 
of the edifice, the gardens of Ccesar's palace, with 
a palm-tree, which seems to have been placed in the 
midst of this wreck, expressly for painters and poets. 
Instead of the shouts of joy which heretofore proceeded 
from the ferocious spectators in this amphitheatre, on see- 
ing Christians devoured by lions and panthers, nothing 
was now heard but the barking of dogs, which belonged 
to the hermit resident here as a guardian of the ruins. At 
the moment that the sun descended below the horizon, 
the clock in the dome of Saint Peter resounded under the 
porticoes of Collisee. This correspondence, through 
^he medium of religious sounds, between the two grand- 
est monuments of Pagan and Christian Rome, caused a 
lively emotion in my mind. I reflected that this modern 
edifice would fall in its turn, like the ancient one, and that 
the memorials of human industry succeed each other like 
the men, who erected them. I called to mind that the 
same Jews, who, during their first captivity, worked at 
the edifices of Egypt and Babylon, had also, during their 
last dispersion built this enormous structure ; that the 

D 



~6 RECOLLECTIONS OF ITALY. 

vaulted roofs, which now re-echoed this Christian bell 
were the work of a Pagan emperor, who had been pointed 
out by prophecy as destined to complete the destruction 
of Jerusalem. Are not these sufficiently exalted subjects 
of meditation to be inspired by a single ruin, and do you 
not think that a city, where such effects are produced at 
every step, is worthy of examination ? 

I went to Collisee again yesterday, the 9th of January, 
for the purpose of seeing it at another season, and in 
another point of view. On my arrival I was surprised at 
not hearing the dogs, who generally appeared and barked 
in the superior corridors of the amphitheatre, among the 
i'uins and withered herbage. I knocked at the door of 
the hermitage, which was formed under one of the arches, 
hut I received no answer — the hermit was dead. The 
inclemency of the season, the absence of this worthy re- 
cluse, combined with several recent and afflicting recol- 
lections, increased the sadness arising from this place to 
such an extent that I almost supposed myself to be look- 
ing at the ruins of an edifice, which I had, a few days 
before admired in a fresh and perfect state. It is thus 
that we are constantly reminded of our nothingness. Man 
searches around him for objects to convince his reason. 
He meditates on the remains of edifices and empires; 
forgetting that he himself is a ruin still more instable, and 
that he will perish even before these. What most renders 
our life " the shadow of a shade"* is that we cannot hope 
to live long in the recollection of our friends. The heart, 
in which our image is graven, is like the object, of which 
it retains the features — perishable clay. I was shewn, at 
Portici, a piece of cinder taken from Vesuvius, which 
crumbles into dust when touched, and which preserves 
the impression, (daily diminishing) of a female's breast 
i arm buried under the ruins of Pom' 

* Pindar. 



ROME AND ITS ENVIRONS 27 

Though not flattering to our self-love, this is the true em- 
blem of the traces left bv our memory in the hearts of 
men, who are only dust and ashes.* 

Before I took my departure for Naples, I passed some 
days alone at Tivoli. I traversed the ruins in its environs, 
and particularly those of Villa Adriana. Being overtaken 
by a shower of rain in the midst of my excursion, I took 
refuge in the halls of Thermes near Pecilef under a fig- 
tree, which had thrown down a wall by its growth. In a 
small octagonal saloon, which was open before me, a vine 
had penetrated through fissures in the arched roof, while 
its smooth and red crooked stem mounted along the wall 
like a serpent. Round me, across the arcades, the Roman 
country was seen in different points of view. Large el- 
der trees filled the deserted apartments, where some soli- 
tary black- birds found a retreat. The fragments of ma- 
sonry were garnished with the leaves of scolopendra, the 
satin verdure of which appeared like mosaic work v 
the white marble. Here and there lofty cypresses rephc- 
ed the columns, which had fallen into these palaces of 
death. The wild acanthus crept at their feet on the ruins, 
as if nature had taken pleasure in re-producing, upon 
these mutilated chefs d'eszevre of architecture, the orna- 
ment of their past beauty. The different apartments and 
the summits of the ruins were covered with pendant ver- 
dure ; the wind agitated these humid garlands, and the 
plants bent under the rain of Heaven. 

While I contemplated this picture, a thousand con- 
fused ideas passed across my mind. At one moment I 
admired, at the next detested Roman grandeur. At one 
moment I thought of the virtues, at another of the vices, 
which distinguished this lord of the world, who had wish- 
ed to render his garden a representation of his empire. I 
called to mind the events, by which his suptrb villa had 

* Job. . t Remains of the Villa. 



28 RECOLLECTIONS OF ITALY. 

been destroyed. I saw it despoiled of its most beautiful 
ornaments by the successor of Adrian — I saw the bar- 
barians passing like a whirlwind, sometimes cantoning 
themselves here ; and, in order to defend themselves a- 
midst these monuments of art which they had half destroy- 
ed, surmounting the Grecian and Tuscan orders with 
gothic battlements — finally, I saw Christians bringing 
back civilization to this district, planting the vine, and 
guiding the plough into the temple of the Stoics, and the 
saloons of the Academy.* Ere long the arts revived, 
and the monarchs employed persons to overturn what 
still remained of these gorgeous palaces, for the purpose 
of obtaining some master- pieces of art. While these dif- 
ferent thoughts succeeded each other, an inward voice 
mixed itself with them, and repeated to me what has been 
a hundred times written on the vanity of human affairs. 
There is indeed a double vanity in the remains of the 
Villa Adriana : for it is known that they were only imi- 
tations of other remains, scattered through the provinces 
of the Roman empire. The real temple of Serapis and 
Alexandria, and the real academy at Athens no longer ex- 
ist ; so that in the copies of Adrian you only see the ruins 
of ruins. 

I should now, my dear friend, describe to you the 
temple of the Sibyl at Tivoli, and the charming temple of 
Vesta, suspended over the cascade ; but I cannot spare 
time for the purpose. I regret, too, that 1 am unable to 
depict this cascade, on which Horace has conferred cele- 
brity. When there, I was in your domain, for you are 
the inheritor of the Grecian aphelia, or the " simplex 
munfiitiis" described by the author of the Ars Poetica ; 
but I saw it in very gloomy weather, and I myself was 
not in good spirits. I will further confess that I was in 

" Villa, 



ROME AND ITS ENVIRONS. 29 

some degree annoyed by this roar of waters, though I 
have been so often charmed by it in the forests of Ameri- 
ca. I have still a recollection of the happiness which I 
experienced during a night passed amidst dreary deserts, 
when my wood fire was half extinguished, my guide a- 
sleep, and my horses grazing at a distance —I have still a 
recollection, I say, of the happiness which I experienced 
when I heard the mingled melody of the winds and waters, 
as I reclined upon the earth, deep in the bosom of the 
forest. These murmurs, at one time feeble, at another 
more loud, increasing and decreasing every instant, made 
me occasionally start ; and every tree was to me a sort of 
lyre, from which the winds extracted strains conveying 
ineffable delight. 

At the present day I perceive that I am less sensible 
to these charms of nature, and I doubt whether the cata- 
ract of Niagara would cause the same degree of admira- 
tion in my mind, which it formerly inspired. When one 
is very young, Nature is eloquent in silence, because 
there is a super-abundance in the heart of man. All his 
futurity is before him (if my Aristarchus will allow me to 
use this expression) he hopes to impart his sensations to 
the world, and feeds himself with a thousand chimeras ; 
but at a more advanced age, when the prospect, which we 
had before us, passes into the rear, and we are undeceiv- 
ed as to a host of illusions, then Nature, left to herself, be- 
comes colder and less eloquent. " Les jar dins par lent 
peu"* To interest us at this period of life, it is necessa- 
ry that we have the additional pleasure of society, for we 
are become less satisfied with ourselves. Absolute soli- 
tude oppresses us, and we feel a want of those conversa- 
tions which are carried on, at night, in a low voice among 
friends, f 

* La Fontaine, f Horace 



30 RECOLLECTIONS OF ITALY. 

I did not leave Tivoli without visiting the house of 
the poet, whom I have just quoted. It faced the Villa 
of Mecaenas, and there he greeted "jloribus et vino geni- 
um memorem brevis crvi."* The hermitage could not 
have been large, for it is situated on the very ridge of the 
hill ; but one may easily perceive that it must have been 
xtry retired, and that every thing was commodious, 
though on a small scale. From the orchard, which was 
in front of the house, the eye wanders over an immense 
extent of country. It conveys, in all respects, the idea of 
a true retreat for a poet, whom little suffices, and who en- 
joys so much that does not belong to him — " spatio brevi 
spent longam reseces"^ 

After all, it is very easy to be such a philosopher as Ho- 
race was. He had a house at Rsme, and two country 
villas, the one at Utica, the other at Tivoli. He quaffed, 
with his friends, the wine which had been made during 
the consulate of Tully. His sideboard was covered with 
plate ; and he said to the prime minister of the sovereign., 
who guided the destinies of the world : " I do not feel 
the wants of poverty ; and if I wish for any thing mere, 
you, Mecaenas, will not refuse me." Thus situated, a 
man may very comfortably sing of Lalage, crown himself 
with short-lived lilies, talk of death while he is drinking 
Falernian, and give his cares to the winds. 

I observe that Horace, Virgil, Tibullus, and Livy all 
died before Augustus, whose late in this respect was the 
r>ame as Louis XIV experienced. Our great prinee sur 
vived his cotemporaries awhile, and was the last v. ho de- 
scended to the grave, as if to be certain that nothing re- 
mained behind him. 

* There he greeted with flowers aiid wine the genius who 
reminds us of the brevity of life. 

t Closed in a narrow space of far extended hopes. 

UoHAc.y 



ROME AND IT'S ENVTRONS. 31 

It will doubtless be a matter of indifference to you if 
I state the house of Catullus to be at Tivoli above that of 
Horace, and at present occupied by monks ; but you 
will, perhaps, deem it more remarkable that Ariosto 
composed his "fables comiques"* at the same place in 
which Horace enjoyed the good things of this world. It 
has excited surprise that the author of Orlando Furioso, 
when living in retirement with the cardinal d'Est at 
Tivoli, should have fixed on France as the subject of his 
divine extravaganzas, and France too when in a state of 
demi-barbarity, while he had under his eyes the grave re • 
mains and solemn memorials of the most serious and 
civilized nation upon earth. In other respects, the Villa 
d'Est is the only modern one which has interested me, a- 
mong the wrecks of proud habitations belonging to so 
many Emperors and Consuls. This illustrious house of 
Ferrara has had the singular good fortune of being celebrat- 
ed by the two greatest poets of its age, and the two men, who 
possessed the most brilliant genius, to which modern 
Italy has given birth. 

Placciavi generose Ercolea firole 
Ornameno, e splendor del zecoltiostr;,. 
Ififiolito, etc. 

It is the exclamation of a happy man, who returns 
thanks to the powerful house, which bestows favors or 
him, and of which he constitutes the delight. Tasso, 
who was more affecting, conveys in his invocation, the 
acknowledgments of a grateful but unfortunate man ; 

Tu magnanimo Alfonso ^ 11 qual ritogli, etc, 

Ke, who avails himself of power to assist neglected 
* Boilean. 



32 RECOLLECTIONS OF ITALY. 

talent, makes a noble use of it. Ariosto and Hippolyto 
cl'Est have left, in the valleys of Tivoli, a reputation 
which does not yield, in point of the charm conveyed by 
It, to that of Horace and Mecasnas. But what is become 
of tbe protectors and the protected? At the moment 
that I write this letter, the house of Est is extinct, and its 
villa fallen into ruins. Such is the history of every thing 
belonging to this world. 

Linquenda tellus y el domus, ct filacens 
Uxor.* 

I spent almost a whole day at this superb villa. I 
could not put a period to my admiration of the immense 
prospect, which I enjoyed from the high ground of the 
terraces. Below me were gardens, stretching to a con- 
siderable extent, and displaying great numbers of plane- 
trees and cypresses. Beyond these were the ruins of the 
house, which once belonged to Mecsenas, on the borders 
of the Anio.f On the opposite hill, which is on the other 
side of the river, is a wood of ancient olives and among 
these are the ruins of the villa once occupied by Varus. J 
A little further, to the left, rise the three mountains Mon- 
ticelli, San Francesco, and Sant Angelo, and between the 
summits of these three neighbouring mountains appears 
the azure brow of old Socrate. In the horizon, and at the 
extremity of the Roman plains, describing a circle by the 
West and South, may be discerned the heights of Monte 
Fiascone, Rome, Civita Vecchia, Ostie, the sea, and 
Frascati, surmounted by the pines of Tusculum. Return- 
ing in search of Tivoli towards the East, the entire cir- 

* Man must quit his estate, his house, and amiable wife. 
t Now the Tcveronc. 

\ Tlic Varus, who was massacred with the legions in f 
many. Sec the admirable description pfTaci 



* ■ 



ROME AND ITS ENVIRONS, 33 

cumference of this immense prospect is terminated by 
Mount Ripoli, formerly occupied by the houses of Brutus 
and Atticus, at the foot of which is the Villa Adriana. 

In the midst of this picture the Teverone descends 
rapidly towards the Tiber, and the eye may follow its 
source to the bridge, where the mausoleum of the family 
Plotia is erected in the form of a tower. The high road 
to Rome is also visible in the plain. It was the ancient 
Tiburtine way, then bordered by sepulchres ; and at pre- 
sent, haystacks of a pyramidical form remind the specta- 
tor of the tombs, which they resemble in shape. 

It would be difficult to find, in the rest of the world, a 
place more likely to beget powerful reflections. I do not 
speak of Rome, though the domes of that city are visible, 
by which I at once say much for a prospect : but I speak 
only of the district and its truly interesting remains. 
Tnere you behold the house in which Mecsenas, satiated 
with the luxuries of die world, died of a tedious complaint. 
Varus left this hill to shed his blood in the marshes of 
Germany. Cassiusand Brutus abandoned these retreats, 
in order to overthrow their country. Under these pines 
of Frascati, Cicero pursued his studies. Adrian caused 
another Peneus to flow at the foot of that hill, and trans- 
ported into the region the charms and recollections of the 
valley of Tern pe. Towards this source of the Soltafare 
the queen of Palmyra ended her days in obscurity, and 
her city of a moment disappeared in die desert. It was 
here that king Latinus consulted the god Faunus in the 
forest of Albunea. It was here that Hercules had his 
temple, and the Sybil dictated her oracles. Those are 
the mountains 01 the ancient Sabines, and the plains of 
Latium, the land of Saturn and Rhea ; the cradle of the 
golden age, sung by all the poets. In short, this is the 

. rag region ' French genius alone has been able 



*>4 !t£COLLECTIONS OF ITALY. 

to describe the graces, through the pencil of Poussin and 
Claude Lorain. 

I descended from the Villa d'Est about three o'clock 
in the afternoon, and crossed the Teverone over the bridge 
of Lupus, for the purpose of re-entering Tivoli by the 
Sabine gate* In passing through the grove of olives, 
which I before mentioned to you, I perceived a white 
chapel, dedicated to the Madonna Quintilanea, and built 
upon the ruins of the villa formerly belonging to Varus. 
It was Sunday — the door of the chapel was open, and I 
entered. I saw three altars disposed in the form of a 
cross; and on the middle one was a silver crucifix, before 
which burnt a lamp suspended from the roof. A solitary 
man, of most unhappy mien, was prostrate against a 
bench, and praying with such fervour that he did not even 
raise his eyes at the noise of my footsteps, as I approach- 
ed. I felt what I have a thousand times experienced oh 
entering a church — a sort of solace to the troubles of the 
heart, and an indescribable disgust as to every thing earth- 
ly. I sunk upon my knees at some distance from the 
man, and, inspired by the place, could not refrain from 
uttering this prayer : 

" God of the traveller, who sufFerest the pilgrim to 
adore thee in this humble asylum, built on the ruins of a 
palace once occupied by a great man of this world, — mo- 
ther of affliction, who hast mercifully established thy wor- 
ship in the inheritance of this unfortunate Roman, who 
died far from his country among barbarians — there are at 
tiie foot of your altar, only two prostrate sinners. Grant 
this stranger, who seems to be so profoundly humbled be- 
fore your greatness, all that he implores of you, and let 
i tis prayer obtain for me the removal of my infirmities; 
so that we two Christians, who are unknown to each other, 
who have never met but for one instant during our lives, 
and who are about to part and no more see each other 



ROME AND ITS ENVIRONS- 5$ 

here below, may be astonished when we again meet at the 
foot of your throne in mutually owing part of our happi- 
ness to the intercession of this day, and to the miracles of 
your charity." 

When I look at all the leaves, which are scattered 
over my table, I am alarmed at having trifled to such an 
extent, and hesitate as to sending such a letter. The 
fact is that lam aware of having said nothing to you, and 
of having forgotten a thousand things which I ought to 
have said. How happens it, for instance, that I have not 
spoken of Tusculum, and of that wonderful man, Cicero, 
who, according to Seneca, was the only genius ever pro- 
duced by the Roman nation, equal to the vastness of its 
empire? " Illud ingeniwn quod solum populus Romanus 
par imperio suo habuit" My voyage to Naples, my de- 
scent into the crater of Vesuvius,* my tours to Pompeia, 
Capua, Caserta, Solfatara, the Lake of Avernus, and the 
grotto of the Sibyl would interest you. Baiae, where so 
many memorable scenes occurred, would alone deserve a 
volume. I could fancy that I still saw Bauli, where 
Agrippina's house stood, and where she used this sublime 
expression to the assassins sent by her son : " Ventrem 
feri.y' The isle of Nisida, which served as a retreat to 

* There is only some fatigue attendant on a descent into the 
crater of Vesuvius, but no danger, unless indeed a person should 
be suprised by a sudden eruption ; and even in that case, if not 
blown into the air by the explosion of the matter, experience has 
proved that he may still save himself on the lava, which flows ve- 
ry slowly, but congeals so rapidly that a p :rson can soon pass over- 
it. I descended as far as one of the three small craters, formed in 
the middle of the large one, by the last eruption. The smoke, to* 
wards the side of the Torre del Annunciata was rather thick, and 
I made several abortive efforts to reach a light which was visible 
on the other side towards Caserte. In some parts of the moua- 
•am the cinders were burning hot, two inches under the surface, 

t Tacitus. 



S6 RECOLLECTIONS OP ITALY. 

Brutus, after the murderof Cassar, the bridge of Caligu- 
la, the admirable Piscina, and all those palaces, built in 
the sea, of which Horace speaks, well deserve that any 
one should stop a moment. Virgil has fixed or found in 
these places the beautiful fictions of his sixth Eneid. It 
was from hence that he wrote to Augustus these modest 
words, the only lines of prose, I believe, written by this 
great man, which have reached us : " Ego vero Jrequen- 
tes a te litteras accipio. De Mnea qiddem meo, si meher- 
cule jam dignum auribus haberem tuis> libenter mitterem ; 
sed tanta inchoata res est, ut pene vitio mentis tantum 
opus ingressas m hi videar ; cumprcesertim, ut scis, alia 
quoque studia ad id opus multoque potior a impertiar"* 

My pilgrimage to the tomb of Scipio Africanus is 
one of those from which I derived the highest satisfac- 
tion, though I failed in attaining the object, for which I 
undertook it. I had been told that the mausoleum of 
this famous Roman still existed, and that even the word 
patria was distinguishable on it, being all that remained 
of the inscription, which was asserted to have been carv- 
ed upon it. 

« Ungrateful land, thou shall not have my bones !" 

I went to Patria, the ancient Liternum, but did not 
find the tomb.f I wandered, however, through the ruins 

* This fragment occurs in the Saturnalia of Macrobius, but I 
cannot point out the book, having no immediate means of refer- 
ence. I believe, however, that it is the first. 

t I was not only told that this tomb was in existence ; but I 
have read the circumstances above mentioned in some travels, 
though I do not recollect by whom they were written. I doubt 
these statements, however, for the following reasons : 

1st. It appears to me that Scipio, in spite of his just com 
plaints against Rome, loved his country too much to haye wished 



ROME AND ITS ENVIRONS. Ji \ 

of the house which the greatest and most amiable of men 
inhabited during his exile. I say in imagination the con- 
queror of Hannibal walking on the sea- coast opposite to 
that of Carthage, and consoling himself for the injustice 
of Rome by the charms of friendship, and the conscious- 
ness of rectitude. 

that such an inscription should be recorded on his tomb. It is 
contrary to all we know of the genius of the ancients. 

2dly. The inscription spoken of, is almost literally conceived 
in the terms of imprecation which Livy puts into the mouth of 
Scipio when he left Rome. May not this have given rise to the 
error ? 

Sdly. Plutarch mentions that in the neighbourhood of Gaieta 
a bronze urn was found in a marble tomb, where the ashes of 
Scipio would most probably have been deposited, and that it bore 
an inscription very different to the one now under discussion. 

The ancient Liternum, having the name Patria> this may 
have given birth to the report that the word Patria was the only 
remaining one of* the inscription upon the tomb. Would it not, 
in fact, be a very singular coincidence that the town should be cal- 
led Patria, and that the same word should also be found in this soli- 
tary state upon the monument of Scipio— unless indeed we sup- 
pose the one to have been taken from the other ? 

It is possible, nevertheless, that authors, with whom I am un- 
acquainted, may have spoken of this inscription in a way which 
leaves no doubt. I grant that there is even an expression in 
Plutarch, apparently favourable to the opinion I am combatting. 
A man of great merit, and who is the dearer to me because he is 
very unfortunate, visited Patria much about the same time that I 
did. We have often conversed together about this celebrated 
place .; but I am not quite sure whether he said that he had seen 
the tomb or the word (which would solve the difficulty) or whether 
he only grounded his arguments on popular tradition. For my 
own part I never found the tomb itself, but merely saw the rains 
of the villa, which are of no great consequence. 

Plutarch mentions some one to have stated that, the tomb of 
Scipio was near Rome ; but they evidently confounded the tomb 
of the Scifaos with that of Scipio Africanus. Livy affirms that 
the latter was at Liternum, and that it was surmounted by a statue, 
which a tempest had thrown down ; adding that he himself had 



38 RECOLLECTIONS OF ITALY. 

As to the modern Romans, Duclos appears to have 
been sarcastic when he calls them the Italians of Borne. 
I am of opinion that there is still among them the mate- 
rials, requisite towards the formation of no common peo- 
ple. When the Italians are closely examined, great sense, 
courage, patience, genius, .and deep traces of their ancient 
manners are to be discovered in them, with a kind of su- 
perior air, and some noble customs, which still partake of 
royalty. Before you condemn this opinion, whiqh may 
appear to you singular, you must hear my reasons for it. 
and at present I have not time to send them. 

What a number of observations I have to make upon 
Italian literature ! Do you know that I never saw Count 
Alfieri but once in my life, and can you guess in what 
situation ? I saw him put into his coffin. I was told that 
he was scarcely at ail altered. His countenance appear- 
ed tome noble and grave; but death had doubtless im- 
parted* some additional degree of severity to it. The cof- 
fin being rather too short, a person bent his head over his 
breast, which caused a most disagreeable motion on the 
part of the body. Through the kindness of one who was 
very dear to Alfieri, and the politeness of a gentleman at 
Florence, who was also the Count's friend, I am in pos- 
session of some curious particulars as to the posthumous 
works, life and opinions of this celebrated man. Most of 
the public papers in France have given vague and muti- 
lated accounts of the subject. Till I am able to commu- 

seen the statue. We know too from Seneca, Cicero, and Pliny, 
that the other tomb, namely the family vault of the Scipios, was 
actually in existence at one of the gates of Rome. It has been 
discovered during the pontificate of Pius VI, and the inscriptions, 
appertaining to it, were conveyed to the museum of the Vatican, 
Among the names cf the members, composing the family of 
S :ipio, which appear upon this monument of ihcir consequence, 
that of AfHcanus 5s wanting. 



ROME AND ITS ENVIRONS. o\) 

nicate these particulars, I send you the epitaph which Al- 
fieri made for his noble mistress, at the same time that he 
composed his own. 

Hie slta est 

Alf E.... St... 

Alf. . . . Com. . . . 

Genere. forma moribus. 

IncomparabilL animi. candore. 

Prceclarissima. 

A. Vic tor io. Alferio. 

Juxta. quern, sarcophago. uno.* 

Tumulata. est. 

Annorum. 26. spatio. 

Ultra, res. -omnes. clilecta. 

Et. quasi^ mortale. riumine. 

Ab. ipso, constanter. habita* 

Et. observata. 

Vixit. annos- . . menses . . . dies,* . . 

Hannonifi. montibus. nata. 

Obiit ... die . . . mens ; s . . . 

Anno. Domini. M. D. C. C.C... .f 

* Sic inscribendum me, ut opinor et opto, prsemoriente ; sea 
aliter, jubente Deo, aliter inscribendum : 

Qui. juxta. earn, sarcofihago. uno. 
CondUus. crii. quamfirimum. 

t Here lies Eloisa E. St. Countess of Al, illustrious by hep 
ancestry, the graces of her person, the elegance of her manners, 
and the incomparable candour of her mind ; buried near Victor 
Alfieri and in the same grave ; (a) he preferred her during twen- 
ty-six years to every thing in the world ; and though mortal, she 
was constantly honoured and revered by him as if she had been a 
divinity. She was born at Mons, lived .... and died on .... . 

(a) To be thus inscribed, if I die first, as I believe and hope 1 shall ; but 
if God ordain it otherwise, the inscription to be thus altered, after the men* 
lion of Alfieri, 

who will soou be inclosed in the same tomb with Uer. 






40 R££OLLEETIj0J\ t S OF ITALY. 

The simplicity of this epitaph, and particularly of 
the note which accompanies it, appears to me very af- 
fecting. 

For the present I have finished. I send you a heap of 
ruins — do what you like with them. In the description 
of the different objects, of which I have treated, I do not 
think that I have omitted any remarkable circumstance, 
unless it be that the Tiber is still the "jlavus Tiberinus." It 
is said that it acquires its muddy appearance from the rains 
which fall in the mountains, whence it descends. I have 
often, while contemplating this discoloured river in the 
sercnest weather, represented to myself a life begun 
amidst storms. It is in vain that the remainder of its 
course is passed beneath a seiener sky ; the stream con- 
tinues to be tainted with the waters of the tempest, which 
disturbed it at its sour— 



41 



VISIT TO MOUNT VESUVIUS.* 



ON the 5th of January, I left Naples at seven o'clock 
ill the morning, and proceeded to Portici. The sun had 
chased away the clouds of night, but the head of Vesuvi- 
us is always wrapt in mist. I began my journey up" the 
mountain with a Cicerone, who provided two mules, one 
for me and one for himself. 

The ascent was at first on a tolerably wide road, be- 
tween two plantations of vines, which were trained upon 
poplars. I soon began to feel the cold wintry air, but 
kept advancing, and at length perceived a little below the 
vapours of the middle region, the tops of some trees. 
They were the elms of the hermitage. The miserable 
habitations of the vine-dressers were now visible on both 
sides, amidst a rich abundance of Lachrymce Christi. In 
other respects, I observed a parched soil, and naked vines 
intermixed with pine-trees in the form of an umbrella, 
some aloes in the hedge, innumerable rolling stones, and 
not a single bird. 

* The following observations were not intended for the public 
eye, as will easily be perceived from the particular character of 
the reflections which they contain. They were principally written 
in pencil as I ascended to the crater of the volcano. I have not 
chosen to correct any part of this short journal, that I might not 
in any degree interfere with the truth of the narrative ; but for the 
reasons mentioned the reader is requested to peruse it with indu]- 
gence. 

F 



42 RECOLLECTIONS OF ITALY. 

On reaching the first level ground of the mountain, a 
naked plain lay stretched before me, and I had also in view 
the two summits of Vesuvius — on the left the Sotnma y 
on the right the present mouth of the Volcano. These 
l i .vo heads were enveloped in pale clouds. I proceeded. On 
one side the Somma falls in, and on the other, I began to 
distinguish the hollows made in the cone of the volcano, 
which 1 was about to climb. The lava of 1766 and 1769 
covered the plain, which I was crossing. It is a frightful 
smoky desert, where the lava, cast out like dross from a 
forge, displays its whitish scum upon a black ground, 
exactly resembling dried moss. 

Leaving the cone of the volcano to the right and fol- 
lowing the road on the left, I reached the foot of a hill, or 
rather a wall, formed of the lava, which overwhelmed 
Herculaneum. This species of wall is planted with vines 
on the borders of the plain, and on the opposite side is a 
deep valley, filled by a copse. The air now began to 
" bite shrewdly." 

I climbed this hill in order to visit the hermitage 
which I perceived from the other side. The heavens low- 
ered ; the clouds descended and flew along the surface of 
the earth like grey smoke, or ashes driven before the wind. 
I began to hear a murmuring sound among the elms of 
the hermitage. 

The hermit came forth to receive me, and held the bri- 
dle of my mule while I alighted. He was a tall man with 
an open countenance and good address. He invited me 
into his cell and placed upon the table a repast of bread, 
apples and eggs. He sat down opposite to me, rested 
both his elbows on the table, and calmly began to converse 
while I cat my breakfast. The clouds were collected all 
round us, and no object could be distinguished through 
the windows of the hermitage. Nothing was heard in 
this dreary abyss of vapour, but the whistling of the wind, 



VISIT TO MOUNT VESUVIUS. 43 

ind the distant noise of the waves, as they broke upon 
the shores of Herculaneum. There was something sin- 
gular in the situation of this tranquil abode of Christian 
hospitality — a small cell at the foot of a volcano and in 
the midst of a tempest. 

The hermit presented to me the book in which stran- 
gers, who visit Vesuvius, are accustomed to make some 
memorandum. In this volume I did not find one remark 
worthy of recollection. The French indeed, with the 
good taste natural to our nation, had contented them, 
selves with mentioning the date of their journey, or pay- 
ing a compliment to the hermit for his hospitality. It 
would seem that this volcano had no very remarkable ef- 
fect upon the visitors, which confirms me in the idea I 
some time since formed, namely, that grand objects and 
grand subjects are less capable of giving birth to great 
ideas than is generally supposed ; for their grandeur be- 
ing evident, all that is added, beyond this fact, becomes 
mere repetition. The " nascetur ridiculus mus" is true 
of all mountains. 

I left the hermitage at half past two o'clock, and con- 
tinued to ascend the hill of lava, on which I had before 
proceeded On my left was the valley, which separated 
me from the Somma ; on my right the plain of the cone. 
Not a living creature did I see in this horrible region but 
a poor, lean, sallow, half-naked girl, who was bending un- 
der a load of faggots, which she had cut on the mountain. 

The clouds now entirely shut out the view ; for the 
w T ind blew them upwards from the black plain, of which, if 
clear, I should have commanded the prospect, and caused 
them to pass over the lava road, upon which I was pursu- 
ing my way. I heard nothing but the sound of my 
mule's footsteps. 

At length I quitted the hill, bending to the right, and 
fe- descending into the plain of lava, which adjoins the 



44 RECOLLECTIONS OF ITALY. 

cone of the volcano, and which I crossed lower down on 
my road to the hermitage ; but even when in the midst 
of these calcined fragments, the mind can hardly form to 
itself an idea of the appearance which the district must as- 
sume, when covered with fire and molten metals by an 
eruption of Vesuvius. Dante had, perhaps, seen it when 
he describes in his Hell those showers of ever-burning 
iire, which descend slowly and in silence " come di ne- 
ve in Alpe senza vento." 

" Arivammo ad una landa 
Che dal suo letto ogni piarita rimove 



Lo spazzo er' un' arena arida e spessa 
Sovratutto '1 sabbion d'un cader lento 
Pioven di fuoco dilatata, e falde, 
Come di neve in Alpe senza vento. 



Snow was here visible in several places, and I sudden- 
ly discovered at intervals Portici, Capri, Ischia, Pausili- 
pi, the sea studded with the white sails of fishing boats, 
and the coast of the gulph of Naples, bordered with 
orange trees. It was a view of paradise from the infernal 



regions. 



On reaching the foot of the cone, we alighted from 
our mules. My guide gave me a long staff, and we be- 
gan to climb the huge mass of cinders. The clouds clos- 
ed in, the fog became more dense, and increasing dark- 
ness surrounded us. 

Behold me now at the top of Vesuvius, where I seat- 
ed myself at the mouth of the volcano, wrote down what 
had hitherto occurred, and prepared myself for a descent 
into the cr;itcr. The sun appeared, from time to time, 
through the mass of vapours, which enveloped the whole 
mountain, and concealed from me one of the most beau- 
tiful landscapes in the world, while it doubled the hori 



VISIT TO MOUNT VESUVIUS. 45 

of the place I was in. Vesuvius, thus separated by 
clouds from the enchanting country at its base, has the ap- 
pearance of being placed in the completest desert, and the 
sort of terror, which it inspires, is in no degree diminish- 
ed by the spectacle of a flourishing city at its foot. 

I proposed to my guide that we should descend into 
the crater. He made several objections, but this was on- 
ly to obtain a little more money ; and we agreed upon a 
sum, which he received on the spot. He then took off his 
clothes, and we walked some time on the edge of the 
abyss, in order to find a part which was less perpendicu- 
lar, and more commodious for our descent. The guide 
discovered one, and gave the signal for me to accompany 
him. — We plunged down. 

Fancy us at the bottom of the gulph.* I despair of 
describing the chaos, which surrounded me. Let the read- 
er figure to himself a basin, a thousand feet in circumfer- 
ence, and three hundred high, which forms itself into the 
shape of a funnel. Its borders or interior walls are fur- 
rowed by the liquid fire, which this basin has contained, 
and vomited forth. The projecting parts of these walls 
resemble those brick pillars, with which the Romans sup- 
ported their enormous masonry. Large rocks are hang- 
ing down in different parts, and their fragments mixed 
with cinders into a sort of paste, cover the bottom of the 
abyss. 

This bottom of the basin is ploughed and indented in 
various manners. Near the middle are three vents, or 
small mouths, recently opened, which discharged flames 
during the occupation of Naples by the French in 1798. 

Smoke proceeds from different points of the crater, 
especially on the side towards la Torre del Greco. On 

* There is fatigue, but very little danger attendant on a de- 
scent into the crater of Vesuvius, unlets the investigator should be 
surprised by a 'sudden eruption- 



46 RECOLLECTIONS OF ITALY. 

the opposite side, towards Caseste, I perceived flame. 
When you plunge your hand into the cinders, you find 
them of a burning heat, several inches under the surface. 
The general colour of the gulph is black as coal ; but 
Providence, as I have often observed, can impart grace 
at his pleasure even to objects the most horrible. The 
lava, in some places, is tinged with azure, ultra-marine, 
yellow, and orange. Rocks of granite are warped and 
twisted by the action of fire, and bent to their very extre- 
mities, so that they exhibit the semblance of the leaves of 
palms and acanthus. The volcanic matter having cooled 
on the rocks over which it flowed, many figures are thus 
formed, such as roses, girandoles, and ribbons. The 
rocks likewise assume the forms of plants and animals, 
and imitate the various figures, which are to be seen in 
agates. I particularly observed on a bluish rock, a 
white swan modelled in so perfect a manner that I could 
have almost sworn I beheld this beautiful bird sleeping on 
a placid lake, with its head bent under its wing, and its 
long neck stretched over its back like a roll of silk. 

" Ad vada Mcandri concinit albus clor.? 9 

I found here that perfect silence which I have, on other 
occasions, experienced at noon in the forests of America, 
when I have held my breath and heard nothing except 
the beating of my heart and temporal artery. It was only 
at intervals that gusts of wind, descending from the cone 
to the bottom of the crater, rustled through my clothes or 
whistled round my staff. I also heard some stones, which 
my guide kicked on one side, as he climbed through the 
cinders. A confused echo, similar to the jarring of metal 
or glass, prolonged the noise of the fall, and afterwards all 
was silent as death. Compare this gloomy silence with 
the dreadful thundering din which slwkes these very 



visit to mou:;t Vesuvius. 4, 

places, when the volcano vomits fire from its entrails, and 
covers the earth with darkness. 

A philosophical reflection may here be made, which 
excites our pity for the sad state of human affairs. What 
is it, in fact, but the famous revolutions of Empires, 
combined with the convulsions of nature, that changes 
the face of the earth and the ocean ? A happy circum- 
stance would it at least be, if men would not employ 
themselves in rendering each other miserable, during the 
short time that they are allowed to dwell together. Ve- 
suvius has not once opened its abyss to swallow up cities, 
without its fury surprising mankind in the midst of blood 
and tears. What are the first signs of civilization and 
improved humanity, which have been found, during 
our days, under the lava of the volcano ? Instruments 
of punishment and skeletons in chains f* 

Times alter, and human destinies are liable to the 
same inconstancy. " Life," says a Greek song, is like 
the "wheels cfa chariot. " 

Troches armatos gar oia 
Biotas irechei kulitheis. 

Pliny lost his life from a wish to contemplate, at a dis- 
tance, the volcano, in the centre of which I was now tran- 
quilly seated. I saw the abyss smoking round me. I 
reflected that a few fathoms below me was a gulph of 
lire. — I reflected that the volcano might at once disgorge 
its entrails, and launch me into the air with all the rocky 
fragments by which I was surrounded. 

What Providence conducted me hither? By what 
chance did the tempests of the American ocean cast me 
on the plains of Lavinia ? " Lavinaque venit littcra." 
I cannot refrain from returning to the agitations of this 

* At Pompeia. 



48 RECOLLECTIONS OF ITALY. 

life, in which St. Augustine says that things are full of 
misery, and hope devoid of happiness. Rem plenam 
miserite, spem beatitudinis inanem. Bom on the rocks 
of America, the first sound, which struck my ear on en- 
tering the world, was that of the sea, and on how many 
shores have I seen the same waves break, that find me 
here again ! Who would have told me, a few years ago, 
that I should hear these wanderers moaning at the tombs 
of Scipio and Virgil, after they had rolled at my feet on 
the costs of England, or the strand of Canada ? My 
name is in the hut of the savage of Florida, and in the 
hermit's book at Vesuvius. When shall I lay down, at 
the gate of my fathers, the pilgrim's staff and mantle ? * 

" fiatrial O Divum domus Ilium I 

How do I envy the lot of those, who never quitted 
their native land, and have no adventures to record ! 



49 



A VISIT TO MONT BLANC. 



I HAVE seen many mountains in Europe and A- 
merica, and it has always appeared to me that in describ- 
ing these monuments of nature, writers have gone be- 
yond the truth. My last experience in this respect has 
not produced any change in my opinion. I have visited 
the valley of Chamouni, rendered famous by the labours 
of M. de Saussure ; but I do not know whether the poet 
would there find the " speciosa desert?* which the mine- 
ralogist discovered. Be that as it may, I will simply de- 
scribe the reflections, which I made during my journey. 
My opinion, however, is of so little consequence that it 
cannot offend any one. 

I left Geneva in dull cloudy weather, and reached 
Servoz at the moment that the sky was becoming clear* 
The crest of Mont Blanc, as it is termed, is not dis- 
coverable from this part of the country, but there is a dis- 
tinct view of the snow- clad ridge called the dome. The 
Montees are here passed, and the traveller enters the valley 
of Chamouni. He proceeds under the glacier of the 
Bossons, the pyramids of which are seen through the firs 
and larches. M. Bourrit has compared this glacier, from 
its whiteness, and the great extent of its chrystals, to a 
fleet under sail. I would add in the midst of a gulph 
encircled with verdant forests. 

G 



50 RECOLLECTIONS OP ITALY, 

I stopped at the village of Chamouni, and on the fol- 
lowing day went to Montanvert, which I ascended in the 
finest weather. On reaching its summit, which is only 
a stage towards the top of Mont Blanc, I discovered what 
is improperly termed the Sea of Ice. 

Let the Reader figure to himself a valley, the whole 
of which is occupied by a river. The mountains, near 
this valley, overhang the river in rocky masses, forming 
the natural spires of Dru, Bochard, and Charmoz. Fur- 
ther on, the valley and river divide themselves into two 
branches, of which the one waters the foot of a high moun- 
tain, called the Col du Geant or Giant's hill, and the 
other flows past the rocks called Iorasses. On the oppo- 
site side is a declivity, which commands a prospect cf 
the valley of Chamouni. This declivity, which is nearly 
vertical, is almost entirely occupied by the portion of the 
sea or lake of ice, which is called the glacier des bois* 
Suppose then that a severe winter has occurred. The 
river, which fills the valley, through all its inflexions and 
declivities, has been frozen to the very bottom of its bed. 
The summits of the neighbouring mountains are loaded 
with ice and snow wherever the granite has been of a 
form sufficiently horizontal to retain the congealed waters. 
Such is the lake of ice, and such its situation. It is man: 
fest that it is not a sea, and not a lake, but a river; just 
as if one saw the Rhine completely frozen. 

When we have descended to the lake of ice, the sur- 
face, which appeared to be smooth and entire while sur- 
veyed from the heights of Montanvert, displays a num- 
ber of points and cavities. The peaks of ice resemble 
the craggy forms of the lofty cliffs, which on all sides 
overhang them. They are like a relief in white marbk; 
to the neighbouring mountains. 

Let us now speak of mountains in general. There 



VISIT TO MONT BLANC. 51 

are two modes of seeing them, with and without clouds, 
These form the principal character of the Alps. 

When clouded, the scene is more animated, but it is 
obscure, and often so confused that one can hardly dis- 
tinguish its features. The clouds clothe the rocks in a 
thousand ways. I have seen a bald crag at Servoz, a* 
cross which a cloud obliquely passed like the ancient 
toga; and I could ha^e fancied I beheld a colossal statue 
of a Roman. In another quarter the cultivated parts of 
the mountain appeared ; but a barrier of vapour obstruct- 
ed the view from my station, and below it black continu- 
ations of the rocks peeped through, imitating the Chime- 
ra, the Sphinx, the heads of the Anubis, and various 
forms of monsters and gods, worshipped by the Egyp- 
tians. 

When the clouds are dispersed by the wind, the 
mountains appear to be rapidly flying behind this light 
curtain, alternately hiding and discovering themselves. 
At one time, a spot of verdure suddenly displayed itself 
through the opening of a cloud, like an island suspended 
in the Heavens ; at another a rock slowly disrobed itself, 
and gradually pierced through the dense vapour like a 
phantom. On such an occasion, the melancholy travel- 
ler hears only the rustling of the wind among the pines, 
and the roaring of the torrents which fall into the glaciers^ 
mingled at intervals with the loud fall of an avalanche^ 
and sometimes the whistle of the affrighted marmot, 
which has seen the hawk of the Alps sailing in the air. 

When the sky is without clouds, and the amphitheatre 
of the mountains entirely displayed to view, one circum- 
stance is particularly deserving of notice. The summits 
of the mountains, as they tower into the lofty regions, pre- 
sent to the eye a purity of delineation, a neatness of plan 

* The sodden descent of an enormous mass of snow from thfc 
fhountain into the yalley. 



52 RECOLLECTIONS OF ITALY. 

and profile, which objects in the plain do not possess, 
These angular heights, under the transparent dome of 
Heaven, resemble beautiful specimens of natural history, 
such as fine trees of coral, or stalactites inclosed in a 
globe of the purest chrystal. The mountaineer searches 
in these elegant appearances for objects, which are familiar 
to him ; hence the names of the Mules, the Charmoz, or 
the Chamois, and the appellations borrowed from reli- 
gion, the heights of the cross, the rock of the altar, the 
glacier of the pilgrims — simple and artless denomina- 
tions, which prove that if man be incessantly occupied in 
providing for his wants, he every where delights to dwell 
upon subjects which offer consolation. 

As to mountain trees, I shall only mention the pine, 
the larch, and the fir, because they constitute, as it were, 
the only decoration of the Alps. 

The pine by its shape calls to mind the beauties of 
architecture, its branches having the elegance of the pyra- 
mid, and its trunk that of the column. It resembles 
also the form of the rocks, among which it flourishes. I 
have often, upon the ridges and advanced cornices of the 
mountains, confounded it with the pointed peaks or beetl- 
ing cliffs. Beyond the hill of Balme, at the descent of 
the glacier de Trien, occurs a wood of pines, firs, and 
larches, which surpass all their congeners in point of 
beauty. Every tree in this family of giants has existed 
several ages, and the Alpine tribe has a king, which the 
guides take care to point out to travellers. It is a fir, 
which might serve as a mast for the largest man of war. 
The monarch alone is without a wound — while all his 
subjects round him are mutilated. One has lost his 
head ; another, part of his arms : a third, has been rent 
by lightning, and a fourth blackened by the herdsman's 
fire. I particularly noticed twins which had sprung 
from the same trunk, and towered aloft together. They 



VISIT TO MONT BLANC. 53 

were alike in height, form, and age ; but the one was 
full of vigour, and the other in a state of decay. They 
called to my mind these impressive lines of Virgil : 

« Daucia, Laride Thymberque, simillima firoles y 
" Indiscreta suis^gratusque fiarentibus error, 
" At nunc dura dedit vobis discrimina Pallas" 

" Oh Laris and Thimber, twin sons of Daucus, and 
so much resembling each other, that even your parents 
could not discern the difference, and felt delight in the 
mistakes which you caused ! But death has caused a 
mournful difference between you.'* 

I may add that the pine announces the solitude and 
indigence of the mountain, on which it is found. It is 
the companion of the poor Savoyard, of whose lot it par- 
takes. Like him it grows and dies upon inaccessible 
eminences, where its posterity perpetuates it, to perish 
equally unknown. It is on the larch that the mountain 
bee gathers that firm and savoury honey, which mixes 
so agreeably with the raspberries and cream of Montau- 
bert. The gentle murmuring of the wind among the 
pines has been extolled by pastoral poets, but when the 
gale is violent, the noise resembles that of the sea, and 
you sometimes actually think that you hear the roaring 
billows of the ocean in the middle of the Alps. The 
odour of the pine is aromatic and agreeable. To me it 
has a peculiar charm ; for I have smelt it at sea, when 
more than twenty leagues from the coast of Virginia. It 
likewise always awakens in my mind the idea of that new 
world, which was announced to me by a balmy air — of 
that fine region and those brilliant lakes, where the per- 
fume of the forest was borne to me upon the matin 
breeze ; and as if every thing was connected in our re- 
membrance, it also calls to mind the sentiments of regret 
and hope which alternately occupied my thoughts, when, 



54 RECOLLECTIONS OF ITALY. 

leaning over the side of the vessel, I thought of that 
country which I had lost, and those deserts, which I was 
about to explore. 

But to arrive finally at my peculiar opinion as to 
mountains, I will observe that as there can be no beauti- 
ful landscape without a mountainous horizon, so there is 
no place calculated for an agreeable residence, and no 
landscape which is satisfactory to the eye and heart where 
a deficiency of space and air exists. Still the idea of 
great sublimity is attached to mountainous views, and 
with great justice as far as regards the grandeur of ob- 
jects ; but if it be proved that this grandeur, though real 
in its effects, is not properly perceived by the senses, 
what becomes of the sublimity ? 

It is with the monuments of nature as with those of 
art. To enjoy their beauty, a person must be stationed 
at the true point of perspective. Without this the forms, 
the colouring, and the proportions entirely disappear. In 
the interior of mountains, when the object itself is almost 
touched, and the field, in which the optics move, is quite 
confined, the dimensions necessarily lose their grandeur 
— a circumstance so true that one is continually deceiv- 
ed as to the heights and distances. I appeal to travellers 
whether Mont Blanc appeared to them very lofty from 
the valley of Chamounie. An immense lake in the Alps 
has often the appearance of a small pond. You fancy a few 
steps will bring you to the top of an acclivity, which you 
are three hours in climbing. A whole day hardly suffices 
to effect your escape from a defile, the extremity of 
which you seemed at first almost to touch with your hand. 
This grandeur of mountains, therefore, so often dwelt 
upon, has no reality, except in the fatigue which it causes. 
As to the landscape, it is not much grander to the £\e 
than an crdinarv one. 



SIT TO MONT BLANC* OD 

But these mountains, which lose their apparent 
grandeur when they are too nearly approached by the 
spectator, are nevertheless, so gigantic that they destroy 
what would otherwise constitute their ornament. Thus 
by contrary laws, every thing is diminished, both as a 
whole and in its separate parts. If nature had made the 
trees a hundred times larger on the mountains than in the 
plains, if the rivers and cascades poured forth waters a 
hundred times more abundant, these grand woods and 
grand waters might produce most majestic effects upon 
the extended face of the earth ; but such is by no means 
the case. The frame of the picture is enlarged beyond 
all bounds, while the rivers, the forests, the villages and 
the flocks preserve their accustomed proportions. Hence 
there is no affinity between the whole and the part, be- 
tween the theatre and its decorations. The plan of the 
mountains being vertical, a scale is thereby supplied, 
with which the eye examines and compares the objects 
it embraces, in spite of a wish to do otherwise, and these 
objects one by one proclaim their own pettiness when thus 
brought to the test. For example, the loftiest pines can 
hardly be distinguished from the vallies, or look only 
like flakes of soot dashed on the spot. The tracks of 
pluvial waters, in these black and gloomy woods, have 
the appearance of yellow parallel stripes, while the largest 
torrents and steepest cataracts resemble small streams, or 
bluish vapours. 

Those, who have discovered diamonds, topazes and 
emeralds in the glaciers, are more fortunate than I was ; 
for my imagination was never able to perceive these trea- 
sures. The snow at the foot of the Glacier des JBois, 
mixed with the dust of the granite, seemed to me like 
ashes. The Lake of Ice might be taken, in several quar- 
ters, for a lime or plaister pit. Its crevices were the only 
parts which afforded any prismatic colours, and when title 



56 RECOLLECTIONS OF ITALY. 

masses of ice rest on the rock, they look like so much 
common glass. 

This white drapery of the Alps has a great inconve- 
nience too, not yet mentioned. It makes every thing 
around it look black, nay it even darkens the azure sky ; 
nor must it be supposed that the spectator is remunerated 
for this disagreeable effect by the fine contrast with the co- 
lour of the snow itself. The tint, which the neighbour- 
ing mountains confer upon it, is lost to a person stationed 
at their feet. The splendour, with which the setting sun 
gilds the summits of the Alps in Savoy, is only seen by 
the inhabitants of Lausanne. As to the traveller, who 
passes through the valley of Chamouni, it is in vain that 
he expects to witness this 'brilliant spectacle. He sees 
over his head, as if through a funnel, a small portion of 
sky which is a dingy blue in point of colour, and unmix- 
ed with any golden or purple marks of the setting lumi- 
nary. Wretched district, upon which the sun hardly 
casts a look even at noon through its frozen barrier ! 

May I be allowed to utter a trivial truth for the pur- 
pose of making myself better understood? In a painting — 
a back ground is necessary, and for this purpose a cur- 
tain is often resorted to. In nature the sky is the cur- 
tain of the landscape; if that be wanting in the back 
ground, every thing is confused and without effect. Now 
the mountains, when a person is too near them, obstruct 
a view of the greater part of the sky. There is not air 
enough round them ; they cast a shade upon each other, 
and interchange the darkness which perpetually prevails 
among the cavities of the rocks. To know whether 
mountain landscapes have so decisive a superiority, it is 
only requisite to consult painters. You will see that they 
have always thrown eminences into the distance, thereby 
opening to the eye a view of woods and plains. 



VISIT TO MONT BLANC. 57 

There is only one period at which mountains appear 
with all their natural sublimity ; namely, by moon-light. 
It is the property of this twilight planet to impart only a 
single tint without any reflection, and to increase objects 
by isolating the masses, as well as by causing that grada- 
tion of colours to disappear, which connect the different 
parts of a picture. Hence die more bold and decided the 
features of a rock or mountain, and the more hardness 
there is in the design, so much the more will the moon 
bring out the lines of shade. It is for this reason that Ro- 
man architecture, like the contour of mountains, is so 
beautiful by moon- light. 

The grand, therefore, and consequently that species 
Of sublimity, to which it gives birth, disappears in the in- 
terior of a mountainous country. Let us now see whe- 
ther the graceful is to be found there in a more eminent 
degree. 

The valleys of Switzerland create at first a sort of 
ccstacy ; but it must be observed that they are only found 
so agreeable by comparison. Undoubtedly the eye, when 
fatigued by wandering over sterile plains, or promonto- 
ries covered with reddish lichen, experiences great delight 
in again beholding a little verdure and vegetation. But 
in \\ hat does this verdure consist ? In some pitiful wil- 
lows, in some patches of oats and barley, which grow 
with difficulty, and are long in ripening, with some wild 
trees, which bear iate and bitter fruit. If a vine contrives 
to vegetate in some spot with a Southern aspect, and care- 
fully protected from the Northern blast, this extraordina- 
ry fecundity is pointed out to you as an object of admira- 
tion. If you ascend the neighbouring heights, the great 
features of the mountains cause the miniature of the val- 
ley to disappear. The cottages become hardly visible, 
and the cultivated parts look like so many patterns on a 
draper's card. 

E 



58 RECOLLECTIONS OF ITALY. 

Much has been said of mountain flowers — 4he violet, 
which is gathered on the borders of the glaciers, the straw- 
berry which reddens in the snow, Sec. but these are imper- 
ceptible wonders, which produce no effect. The orna- 
ment is too small for the colossus, to which it belongs. 

It appears that I am altogether unfortunate, for I have 
not been able to discover in these cottages, which have 
been rendered famous by the enchanting imagination of J. 
J. Rousseau, any thing but miserable huts filled with the 
ordure of cattle, and the smell of cheese and fermented 
milk. I found the inhabitants of them to be forlorn 
mountaineers, who considered themselves exiles, and 
longed for the luxury of descending into the valleys. 

Small birds, flying from one frozen clifF to another, 
with here and there a couple of ravens or a hawk, scarcely 
give animation to the rocky snow-clad scenery, where a fall 
of rain is almost always the only object in motion, which 
salutes your sight. Happy is the man in this region, who 
hears the storm announced from some old fir by the wood- 
pecker. Yet this melancholy indication of life makes my 
mind feel still more sensibly the general death around me. 
The chamois, the bouquetins, and the white rabbits are 
almost entirely destroyed. Even marmots are becom- 
ing scarce ; and the little Savoyard is threatened with the 
loss of his treasure. The wild animals are succeeded on 
the summits of the Alps by herds of cattle, which regret 
that they are not allowed to enjoy the plain as well as their 
masters. They have, however, when lying in the coarse: 
herbage of the Caux district, the merit of enlivening the 
scene, and the more so because they recal to mind the de- 
scriptions of the ancient poets. 

Nothing remains but to speak of the sensations expe- 
rienced among mountains, and these are to me very pain- 
ful. I cannot be happy where J witness on all sides the 
most assiduous labour; and the mo^t unheard-of toil, 



VISIT TO MONT BLANC, 59 

while an ungrateful soil refuses all recompense. The 
mountaineer, who feels his misfortune, is more sincere 
than travellers. He calls the plains the good country \ and 
does not pretend that the rocks, moistened by the sweat 
of his brow, but not thereby rendered more fertile, are the 
most beautiful and best of God's dispensations. If he ap- 
pears highly attached to his mountain, this must be reck- 
oned among the marvellous connection, which the Al- 
mighty has established, between our troubles, the object 
which causes them, and the places, in which we experi- 
enced them. It is also attributable to the recollections of 
infancy, to the first sentiments of the heart, to the plea- 
sures and even the rigours of the paternal habitation. 
More solitary than the rest of mankind, more serious from 
a habit of enduring hardships, the mountaineer finds sup- 
port in his own sentiments. The extreme love of his 
country does not arise from any charm in the district 
which he inhabits, but from the concentration of his ideas, 
and the limited extent of his wants. 

Mountains, however, are said to be the abode of con- 
templation. — I doubt this. I doubt whether any one can 
indulge in contemplation, when his walk is fatiguing, and 
when the attention he is obliged to bestow on his steps, 
entirely occupies his mind. The lover of solitude, who 
gazed with open mouth at chimeras,* while he was climb- 
ing Montanvert, might well fall into some pits, like the 
astrologer, who pretended to read over head when he could 
not see his feet. 

I am well aware that poets have fixed upon valleys 
and woods as the proper places to converse with the 
Muses. For instance let us hear what Virgil says, 

" Rura mihiet rigui filaceant invallibus amnc.^ 

u Flumma amem, sylvasque in glorias."' . 

* La Fontaine. 



60 RECOLLECTIONS OF ITALY. 

From this quotation it is evident that he liked the plains, 
" rura mihi;" he looked for agreeable, smiling, orna- 
mented valleys, " vallibus amnes ;" he was fond of rivers, 
jflumina amemf (not torrents) and forests, in which he 
could pass his life without the parade of glory, " sylvas- 
que inglorius" These sylva are beautiful groves of 
oaks, elms, and beeches, not melancholy woods of fir ; 
for he does not say in this passage, " et ingenti ramorum 
protegat umbra" that he wishes to be enveloped in thick 
shade. 

And where does he wish that this valley shall be situ- 
ated ? In a place, which will inspire happy recollections 
and harmonious names, with traditions of the muses and 
of history : 

u O ubi cdmai 
" Sfierchiusque r et virginibus bacchata Laceenis 
s< Taygeta ! qui me gelidis vallibus Hotmi 
« Sistat /" 

" Oh, where are the fields, and the river Sperchius, and 
Mount Taygetus, frequented by the virgins of Laconia ? 
Oh, who will convey me to the cool valleys of Mount 
Hcemus ? ,J He would have cared very little for the valley 
of Chamouni, the glacier of Taconay, the greater or lesser 
lorasse, the peak of Dru, and the rock of Tete-Noir. 

Nevertheless, if we are to believe Rousseau, and those 
who have adopted his errors without inheriting his elo- 
quence, when a person arrives at the summit of a moun- 
tain, he is transformed into a new man. " On high 
mountains," says Jean Jacques, " Meditation assumes a 
grand and sublime character, in unison with the objects 
I hat strike us. The mind feels an indescribable placid de- 
light, which has nothing earthly or sensual in it. It ap- 
pears to raise itself above the abode of mankind, leaving 
there all low and terrestrial feelings. I doubt whether any 



VISIT TO MONT BLANC. 61 

agitation of the soul can be so violent as to resist the effects 
of a lenthened stay in such a situation." 

Would to Heaven that it were really thus ! How 
charming the idea of being able to shake off our cares by 
elevating ourselves a few feet above the plains ! But un- 
fortunately the soul of man is independent of air and situ- 
ation. Alas ! a heart, oppressed with pain, would be no 
less heavy on the heights than in the valley. Antiquity, 
which should always be referred to when accuracy of feel- 
ing is the subject of discussion, was not of Rousseau's 
opinion as to mountains ; but, on the contrary, represents 
them as the abode of desolation and sorrow. If the lover 
of Julia forgot his chagrin among the rocks of Vaiais, the 
husband of Eurydice fed the source of his grief upon the 
mountains of Thrace. In spite of the talents possessed 
by the philosopher of Geneva, I doubt whether the voice 
of Saint Preux will be heard by so many future ages as 
the lyre of Orpheus. CEdipus, that perfect model of 
Royal calamity, that grand epitome of all earthly evils, 
likewise sought deserted eminences. He mounted to- 
wards Heaven to interrogate the Gods respecting human 
misery. We have other examples supplied by antiqui- 
ty, and of a more beautiful as well as more sacred des- 
cription. The holy writings of the inspired, who better 
knew the nature of man than the profane sages, always 
describe those who are particularly unhappy, the prophets 
and our Saviour himself, as retiring, in the day of afflic- 
tion, to the high places. The daughter of Jeptha, before 
her death, asked her father's permission to go and bewail 
her virginity on the mountains of Judea. Jeremiah said 
that he would go to the mountains for the purpose of 
weeping and groaning. It was on the Mount of Olives 
that Christ drank the cup, which was filled with all the 
afflictions and tears of mankind. 



62 RECOLLECTIONS OF ITALY. 

It is worthy of observation that in the most rational 
pages of that writer, who stepped forward as the defender 
of fixed morality, it is still not difficult to find traces of 
the spirit of the age in which he lived. This supposed 
change of our internal dispositions, according to the na- 
ture of the place which we inhabited, belonged secretly 
to the system of materialism ; which Rousseau affected to 
combat. The soul was considered to be a sort of plant, 
subject to the variations of the atmosphere, and agitated 
or serene in conformity with this. But could Jean Jac- 
ques himself really believe in this salutary influence of the 
higher regions ? Did not this unfortunate man himself 
carry with him his passions and his misery to the moun- 
tains of Switzerland ? 

There is only one situation, in which it is true that 
mountains inspire an oblivion of earthly troubles. This 
is when a man retires far from the world to employ his 
days in religious exercises. An anchorite, who devotes 
himself to the relief of human nature, or a holy hermit, 
who silently meditates on the omnipotence of God, may 
find peace and joy upon barren rocks ; but it is not the 
tranquillity of the place which passes into the soul of the 
recluse ; it is on the contrary, his soul, which dhTuses se- 
renity through the region of storms. 

It has ever been an instinctive feeling of mankind to 
adore the Eternal on high places. The nearer we are to 
Heaven, the less distance there seems to be for our pray- 
ers to pass before they reach the throne of God. The 
patriarchs sacrificed on the mountains ; and as if they 
had borrowed from their altars their idea of the Divinity, 
they called him the Most High. Traditions of this 
ancient mode of worship remained among Christian na- 
tions ; whence our mountains, and in default of them our 
hills were covered with monasteries and abbeys. From 

centre of a corrupt city, man, who was perhaps pro- 



VISIT TO MONT JBLANC. 63 

cecding to the commission of some crime, or who was 
at least in pursuit of some vanity, perceived, on raising 
his eyes, the altars upon the neighbouring heights. The 
cross, displaying at a distance the standard of poverty to 
the eyes of luxury, recalled to the rich ideas of affliction 
and commiseration. Our poets little understood their 
art, when they ridiculed these emblems of Mount Calvary, 
with the institutions and retreats, which bring to our 
recollection those of the East, die manners of the hermits 
ot the Thebaid, the miracles of our divine religion, and 
the events of times, the antiquity of which is not effaced 
by that of Homer. >. 

But this belongs to another class of ideas and senti- 
ments, and bears no reference to the general question, 
which we are examining. After having censured moun- 
tains, it is only just to conclude by saying something iri 
their favour. I have already observed that they are 
essential to a fine landscape, and that they ought to form 
the chain in the back ground of a picture. Their hoary 
heads, their lank sides, and gigantic members, though 
hideous when contemplated, are admirable when rounded 
by the vapour of the horizon, and coloured in a melting 
gilded light. Let us add too, if it be wished, that moun- 
tains are the source of rivers, the last asylum of liberty 
in times of despotism, as well as an useful barrier against 
invasion, and the evils of war. All I ask is that I may 
not be compelled to admire the long list of rocks, quag- 
mires, crevices, holes, and contortions of the Alpine 
vallies. On this condition I will say there are mountains, 
which I should visit again with much pleasure— - for in- 
stance those of Greece and Judea.* 

* This letter was written prior- to M dfe CKate?.v,b :-;.'" 
receaj Travels in the Holy Land. 



RECOLLECTIONS 



OF 



ENGLAND. 



IF MAN were not attached, by a sublime instinct to 
his native country, his most natural condition in the world 
would be that of a traveller. A certain degree of restless- 
ness is for ever urging him beyond his own limits. He 
wishes to see every thing, and is full of lamentations after 
he has seen every thing. I have traversed several regions 
of the globe, but I confess that I paid more attention to 
the deserts than to mankind, among whom, after all, I 
often experience solitude. 

I soj ourned only for a short period among the Germans, 
Spaniards, and Portuguese ; but I lived a considerable 
time in England : and as the inhabitants of that kingdom 
constitute the only people who dispute the empire of the 
French,* the least account of them becomes interesting. 

* This was written at the time that all the continental powers 
of Europe had been conquered by the arms of Napoleon, and had 
acknowledged his title. 



66 RECOLLECTIONS OF ENGLAND. 

Erasmus is the most ancient traveller, with whom I 
am acquainted, that speaks of the English. He states 
that, during the reign of Henry VIII. he found London 
inhabited by barbarians, whose huts were full of smoke, 
A long time afterwards, Voltaire, wanting to discover a 
perfect philosopher, was of opinion that he had found 
this character among the Quakers upon the banks of the 
Thames. During his abode there the taverns were the 
places, at which the men of genius, and the friends of 
rational liberty assembled. England, however, is known 
to be the country, in which religion is less discussed, 
though more respected than in any other ; and where the 
idle questions, by which the tranquillity of empires isdis* 
turbed, obtain less attention than any where else. 

It appears to me that the secret of English manners^ 
and their way of thinking is to be sought in the origin 
of this people. Being a mixture of French and German 
blood, they form a link of the chain by which the two na- 
tions are united. Their policy, their religion, their mar- 
tial habits, their literature, arts, and national character 
appear to me a medium between the two. They seem 
to have united, in some degree, the brilliancy, grandeur, 
courage, and vivacity of the French with the simplicity,, 
calmness, good sense, and bad taste of the Germans. 

Inferior to us in some respects, they are superior h. 
several others, particularly in every thing relative to com- 
merce and wealth. They excel us also in neatness : and 
it is remarkable that a people, apparently of a heavy turn, 
should have, in their furniture, dress, and manufactures, 
an elegance in which we are deficient. It may be said 
of the English that they employ in the labours of the 
hand the delicacy, which we devote to those of the 
mind. 

The principal failing of the English nation is pride : 
which is indeed the fault of all mankind. It prevails at 



RECOLLECTIONS OF ENGLAND. 67 

Paris as well as London, but modified by the French 
character, and transformed into self-love. Pride, in its 
pure state, appertains to the solitary man, who is not 
obliged to make any sacrifice ; but he, who lives much 
with his equals, is forced to dissimulate and conceal his 
pride under the softer and more varied forms of vanity, 
The passions are, in general, more sudden and determin- 
ed among the English ; more active and refined among 
the French. The pride of the former makes him wish 
to crush every thing at once by force ; the self-love of the 
other slowly undermines what it wishes to destroy. In 
England a man is hated for a vice, or an offence, but in 
France such a motive is not necessary ; for the advan- 
tages of person or of fortune, success in life, or even a 
bon mot will be sufficient. This animosity, which arises 
from a thousand disgraceful causes, is not less implaca- 
ble than the enmity founded on more noble motives. 
There are no passions so dangerous as those, which are 
of base origin ; for they are conscious of their own base- 
ness, and are thereby rendered furious. They endeavour 
to conceal it under crimes, and to impart, from its ef- 
fects, a sort of apalling grandeur, which is wanting from 
principle. This the French revolution sufficiently proved. 
Education begins early in England Girls are sent 
to school during the tenderest years. You sometimes 
see groups of these little ones, dressed in white mantles* 
straw-hats tied under the chin with a ribband, and a basket 
on the arm which contains fruit and a book, all with 
downcast eyes, blushing if looked at. When I have ob- 
served our French female children dressed in their ahti- 
quated fashion, lifting up the train of their gowns, looking 
at every one with effrontery, singing love- sick airs, and 
taking lessons in declamation, I have thought with regret 
of the simplicity and modesty of the little English girls. 
A child without innocence is a fiower without perfume. 



63 RECOLLECTIONS OF ENGLAND, 

The boys also pass their earliest years at school, 
where they learn Greek and Latin. Those who are des- 
tined for the church, or a political career, go to the uni- 
versities of Cambridge and Oxford. The first is particu- 
larly devoted to mathematics, in memory of Newton ; but 
the English, generally speaking, do not hold this study in 
high estimation ; for they think it very dangerous to good 
morals when carried too far. They are of opinion that the 
sciences harden the heart, deprive life of its enchantments, 
and lead weak minds to atheism, the sure road to all 
other crimes. On the contrary, they maintain that the 
belles lettres render life delightful, soften the soul, fill us 
with faith in the Divinity, and thus conduce, through 
the medium of religion, to the practice of all the virtues.* 
When an Englishman attains manhood, agriculture, 
commerce, the army arid navy, religion and politics, are 
the pursuits of life open to him. If he chuses to be what 
they call a gentleman farmer, he sells his corn, makes a- 
gricultural experiments, hunts foxes and shoots partridges 
in autumn, eats fat geese at Christmas, sings " Oh the 
roast beef of old England," grumbles about the present 
times, and boasts of the past which he thought no better 
at the moment, above all, inveighs against the minister 
and the war for raising the price of port- wine, and finally 
goes inebriated to bed, intending to lead the same life on 
the following day. 

The army, though so brilliant during the reign of 
Queen Anne, had fallen into a state of disrepute, from 
which the present war has raised it. The English were 
a long time before they thought of turning their princi- 
pal attention to their naval force. They were ambitious 
of distinguishing themselves as a continental power. It 
was a remnant of ancient opinions, which held the pur- 
j of commerce in contempt. The English have, 

* Gibbon. 



RECOLLECTIONS Ol ENGLAND. 69 

like ourselves, always had a species of physiognomy, by 
which they might be distinguished. Indeed, these two 
nations are the only ones in Europe, which properly de- 
serve the appellation. If we had our Charlemagne, they 
had their Alfred. Their archers shared the renown of the 
Gallic infantry ; their Black Prince rivalled our Dugues- 
clin, and their Marlborough our Turenne. Their revo- 
lutions and ours keep pace with each other. We can 
boast of the same glory ; but we must deplore the same 
crimes and the same misfortunes. 

Since England is become a maritime power, she has 
displayed her peculiar genius in this new career. Her 
navy is distinguished from all others in the world by a 
discipline the most singular. The English sailor is an 
absolute slave, who is sent on board a vessel by force, 
and obliged to serve in spite of himself. The man, who 
was so independent while a labourer, appears to lose all 
the rights of freedom from the moment that he becomes 
a mariner. His superiors oppress him by a yoke the 
most galling and humiliating.* Whence arises it that 
men of so lofty a disposition should submit to such ty- 
rannical ill-usage ? It is one of the miracles of a free 
government. In England the name of the law is al- 
mighty. When the law has spoken, resistance is at an 
end. 

I do not believe that we should be able, or indeed that 
we ought to introduce the English system into our navy. 
The French Seaman, who is frank, generous, and spirit- 
ed, wishes to approach his commander, whom he regards 
still more as his comrade than his captain. Moreover, a 
state of such absolute servitude, as that of the English 

* The reader will bear in mind, while contemplating this 
overcharged picture of our gallant navy, that the artist, by whom 
ft is painted, is naturalized in France, though not horn &ere.-~ 
Eoitoh 



70 RECOLLECTIONS OF ENGLAND* 

sailor, can only emanate from civil authority ; hence it is 
to be feared that it would be despised by the French ; 
for unfortunately the latter rather obeys the man than the 
law, and his wishes are more private than public ones. 

Our naval officers have hitherto been better instruct- 
ed than those of England. The latter merely knew their 
manoeuvres, while ours were mathematicians, and men of 
science in every respect. Our true character has, in ge- 
neral, been displayed in our navy, where we have appear- 
ed as warriors, and as men improved by study. As soon 
as we have vessels, we shall regain our birthright on the 
ocean, as well as upon land. We shall also be able to 
make further astronomical observations, and voyages 
round the world ; but as to our becoming a complete 
commercial nation, I believe we may renounce the idea 
at once. We do every thing by genius and inspiration ; 
but we seldom follow up our projects. A great finan- 
cier, or a great man as to commercial enterprize may ap- 
pear among us ; but will his son pursue the same career ? 
Will he not think of enjoying the fortune bequeathed by 
his father, instead of augmenting it? With such a dis- 
position, no nation can become a mercantile one. Com- 
merce has always had among us an indescribable some- 
thing of the poetic and fabulous in it, similar to the rest 
of our manners. Our manufactures have been created by 
enchantment ; they acquired a great degree of celebrity, 
but they are now at an end. While Rome was prudent, 
she contented herself with the Muses and Jupiter, leaving 
Neptune to Carthage. This God had, after all, only the 
second empire, and Jupiter hurled his thunders on the 
ocean as well as elsewhere. 

The English clergy are learned, hospitable, and ge- 
nerous. They love their country, and exert their pow- 
erful services in support of the laws. In spite of religi- 
ous differences, they received the French emigrant clergy 



RECOLLECTIONS OF ENGLAND. 71 

with truly christian charity. The university of Oxford 
printed, at its expense, and distributed gratis to our poor 
priests, a new Latin Testament, according to the Roman 
version, with these words: "For the use of the Catho- 
lic clergy exiled on account of their religion" Nothing 
could be more delicate or affecting. It was doubtless a 
beautiful spectacle for philosophy to witness, at the close 
of the eighteenth century, the hospitality of the English 
clergy towards the Catholic priests ; nay, further, to see 
them allow the public exercise of this religion, and even 
establish some communities. Strange vicissitude of hu- 
man opinions and affairs ! The cry of " The Pope, the 
Pope /" caused the revolution during the reign of Charles 
die First ; and James the Second lost his crown for pro- 
tecting the Catholic religion. 

They, who take fright at the very name of this faith, 
know but very little of the human mind. They consi- 
der it such as it was in the days of fanaticism and barba- 
rity ; without reflecting that, like every other institution, 
it assumes the character of the ages, through which i: 
passes. 

The English ciergy are, however, not without faults. 
They are too negligent with regard to their duties, and 
too fond of pleasure ; they give too many balls, and mix 
too much in the gaieties of life. Nothing is more revolt- 
ing to a stranger than to see a young minister of religion 
awkwardly leading a pretty woman down an English 
country- dance. A priest should be entirely a divine ; 
and virtue should reign around him. He should retire 
into the mysterious recesses of the temple, appearing but 
seldom among mankind, and then only for the purpose of 
relieving the unhappy. It is by such conduct that the 
French clergy obtain our respect and confidence ; where- 
as they would soon lose both the one and the other, if we 
saw them seated at our sides on festive occasions and fami- 



72 RECOLLECTIONS OF ENGLAND. 

liarizing themselves with us ; if they had all the vices of 
the times, and were for a moment suspected of being fee- 
ble fragile mortals like ourselves. 

The English display great pomp in their religious fes- 
tivals. They are even beginning to introduce paintings 
into their churches ; having at length discovered that reli- 
gion without worship is only the dream of a cold enthusi- 
ast, and that the imagination of man is a faculty which 
must be nourished as well as his reason. 

The emigration of the French clergy has in a great de- 
gree tended to propagate these ideas ; and it may be re- 
marked that by a natural return towards the institutions of 
their forefathers, the English have, for some time, laid 
the scene of their dramas and other literary works in the 
ages, during which the catholic religion prevailed among 
them. Of late, this faith has been carried to London by 
the exiled priests of France ; and appears to the English, 
precisely as in their romances, through the medium of 
noble ruins and powerful recollections. All the world 
crowded with anxiety to hear the funeral oration over a 
French lady, delivered by an emigrant bishop at London 
in a stable. 

The English church has reserved for the dead the 
principal part of those honours, which the Roman reli- 
gion awards to them. In all the great towns there are 
persons, called undertakers, who manage the funerals. 
Sometimes you read on the signs over their shops, " Cof- 
fin maker to the King? or " Funerals performed here?' 
as if it was a theatrical representation. It is indeed true 
that representations of grief have long constituted all the 
marks of it, which are to be found among mankind, and 
when nobody is disposed to weep over the remains of the 
^ceased, tears are bought for the occasion. The levst du- 
es paid to the departed would, however, be of a sad 
implex ion indeed, if stripped of the marks of religion ; 



RECOLLECTIONS OF ENGLAND. 73 

for religion has taken root at the tomb, and the tomb 
cannot evade her. It is right that the voice of hope should 
speak from the coffin ; it is right that the priest of the 
living God should escort the ashes of the dead to their 
last asylum. It may be said, on such an occasion, 
that Immortality is marching at the head of death. 

The political bent of the English is well known in 
France, but most people are ignorant as to the parties, in- 
to which the parliament is divided. Besides that of the 
minister, and the one in opposition to it, there is a third, 
which may be called The Anglicans, at the head of which 
is Mr. Wilberforce. It consists of about a hundred 
members, who rigidly adhere to ancient manners, particu- 
larly in what respects religion Their wives are clothed 
like quakers ; they themselves affect great simplicity, 
and give a large part of their revenue to the poor. Mr. 
Pitt was of this sect, and it was through their influence 
that he was elevated to, as well as maintained in the office 
of Prime Minister ; for by supporting one side or the 
other, they are almost sure to constitute a majority and de- 
cide the question discussed. When the affairs of Ireland 
were debated, they took alarm at the promises which Mr. 
Pitt made to the Catholics, and threatened to pass over 
to the opposition, upon which the minister made an able 
retreat from office, in order to preserve the friends, with 
whom he agreed on most essential points, and escape from 
the difficulties, into which circumstances had drawn him* 
Having acted thus, he was sure not to offend the Angli- 
cans, even if the bill passed ; and if, on the contrary, it 
was rejected, the catholics of Ireland could not accuse him 
of breaking his engagement. — It has been asked in France 
whether Mr. Pitt lost his credit with his place, but a sin- 
gle fact will be the best answer to this question. He still 
sits in the House of Commons. When he shall be trans- 

K 



74 RECOLLECTIONS OP ENGLAND. 

ferrcd to the upper house, his political career will be at an 

end. 

An erroneous opinion is entertained by the French as 
to the influence of the party, in England, called the oppo- 
sition, which is completely fallen in the opinion of the 
public. It possesses neither great talents, nor real patri- 
otism. Mr. Fox himself is no longer of any use to it, 
having lost all his eloquence from age and excesses of the 
table. It is certain that his wounded vanity, rather than 
any other motive, induced him, for so long a time, to dis- 
continue his attendance in Parliament. 

The bill, which excludes from the House of Com- 
mons every person in holy orders, has been also misinter- 
preted at Paris. It is not known that the only object of 
this measure was to expel Home Tooke, a man of genius, 
and a violent enemy of government, who had formerly 
been in orders, but had abandoned his cloth ; who had 
also been a supporter of power even to the extent of 
drawing upon himself an attack from the pen of Junius; 
and finally became a proselyte of liberty, like many others. 

Parliament lost in Mr. Burke one of its most dis- 
tinguished members. He detested the French Revolu- 
tion, but to do him justice, no Englishman ever more 
sincerely loved the French as individuals, or more ap- 
plauded their valour and their genius. Though he was 
not rich, he had founded a school for the expatriated 
youth of our nation, where he passed whole days in ad- 
miring the genius and vivacity of these children. He 
used often to relate an anecdote on the subject. Having 
introduced the son of an English nobleman to be educat- 
ed at this school, the young orphans proposed to play 
with him, but the lord did not chuse to join in their 
sports. "1 don't like the French,'* said he frequently 
with a degree of sarcasm. A little boy, who could never 
draw from him uny other answer, said, "That is impos- 



RECOLLECTIONS OF ENGLAND. 75 

siblc. You have too good a heart to hate us. Should 
not your Lordship substitute your fear for your hatred ?" 
It would be right to speak here of English literature, 
and the men of letters, but they demand a separate arti-. 
cle. I will, therefore, content myself, for the present. 
with recording some critical decisions, which have 
much astonished me, because they are in direct contra- 
diction to our received opinions. 

Richardson is little read, being accused of insupport- 
able tediousness and lowness of style. It is said of 
Hume and Gibbon that they have lost the genius of the 
English language, and filled their writings with a crowd 
of Gallicisms ; the former is also accused of being dull 
and immoral. Pope merely passes for an exact and 
elegant versifier ; Johnson contends that his Essay on 
Man is only a collection of common passages rendered 
into pleasant metre. Dry den and Milton are the two 
authors, to whom the title of author is exclusively applied- 
The Spectator is almost forgotten, and Locke is seldom 
mentioned, being thought a feeble visionary. None but 
professed philosophers read Bacon. Shakspeare alone 
preserves his imperial influence, which is easily account- 
ed for by the following fact. 

I was one night at Covent- Garden Theatre, which 
takes its name, as is generally known, from an ancient 
convent, on the scite of which it is built. A well dressed 
man, seated himself near me, and asked soon afterwards 
where he was. I looked at him with astonishment, and 
answered, " In Covent Garden." " A pretty garden in- 
deed!" exclaimed he, bursting into a fit of laughter, and 
presenting to me a bottle of rum. It was a sailor, who 
had accidentally passed this way as he came from the 
city, just at the time the performance was commencing ; 
and having observed the pressure of the crowd at the 



76 RECOLLECTIONS OF ENGLAND. 

entrance of the theatre, had paid his money, and entered 
the house without knowing what he was to see. 

How should the English have a theatre to be termed 
supportable, when the pit is composed of judges recently 
arrived from Bengal, and the coast of Guinea, who do not 
even know where they are ? Shakspeare may reign eter- 
nally in such a nation. It is thought that every thing is 
justified by saying that the follies of English tragedy are 
faithful pictures of nature. If this were true, the most natu- 
ral situations are not those, which produce the greatest 
effect It is natural to fear death, and yet a victim, who 
laments its approach, dries the tears before excited by 
commiseration. The human heart wishes for more than 
it is capable of sustaining, and above ail, wishes for ob- 
jects of admiration. There is implanted in it an impulse 
towards some indescribable unknown beauty, for which 
it was perhaps created at its origin. 

A graver observation arises also from this subject. 
A nation, which has always been nearly barbarous with 
respect to the arts, may continue to admire barbarous 
productions, without its being of any consequence ; but 
I do not know to what point a nation, possessing chef 
d'oeuvres in every pursuit, can resume its love of the 
monstrous, without detracting from its character. For this 
reason, the inclination to admire Shakspeare is more 
dangerous in France than England. In the latter country 
this results from ignorance — in ours it would be the effect 
of depravity. In an enlightened age, the manners of a 
truly polished people contribute more towards good 
taste than is generally imagined. Bad taste, therefore, 
which has so many means of regaining its influence, 
must depend on false ideas, or a natural bias. The 
mind incessantly works on the heart, and it is difficult for 
the road, taken by the heart, to be straight, when that of 
the imagination is crooked; He, who likes deformity, is 



RECOLLECTIONS OF ENGLAND, 77 

not far from liking vice, and he, who is insensible to 
beauty, may easily form a false conception of virtue. 
Bad taste and vice almost always move together ; for the 
former is only the expression of the latter, in the same 
way as words convey our ideas to others. 

I will close this article with some brief observations 
on the soil, the atmosphere and public buildings of Eng- 
land. 

The country is almost without birds, and the rivers 
are small, but the banks of these have, nevertheless, a 
pleasing effect from the solitude which prevails there. 
The verdure of the fields is of a most lively description. 
There are few, indeed hardly any woods ; but every per- 
son's small property being enclosed by a hedge, you 
might fancy when you take a survey from the top of a 
hill, that you were in the middle of a forest. England, 
at the first glance, resembles Britany, the heaths and 
plains being surrounded with trees. As to the sky of 
this country, its azure is brighter than our's, but less 
transparent. The variations of light are more striking 
from the multitude of clouds. In summer, when the sun 
sets at London, beyond Kensington Gardens, it some- 
times affords a very picturesque spectacle. The immense 
volume of coal-smoke, hanging over the city, represents 
those black rocks, tinged with purple, which are adopted 
in our representations of Tartarus, while the ancient 
towers of Westminster Abbey, crowned with vapour, 
and reddened with the last rays of the sun, raise their 
heads above the city, the palace, and St. James's Park, 
like a great monument of death, appearing to command 
all the other handy works of man. 

Saint Paul's church is the most beautiful modern, 
and Westminster Abbey the most beautiful Gothic 
edifice in England. I shall, perhaps, speak more at 
large respecting the latter on some future occasion. I 



78 RECOLLECTIONS OF ENGLAND, 

have often, when returning from my excursions round 
London, passed behind Whitehall, through the court in 
which Charles the First was beheaded. It is in an aban- 
doned state, and the grass grows among the stones. I 
have sometimes stopped and listened to the wind, moan- 
ing round the statue of Charles the Second, which points 
to the spot where his father perished. I never found any 
person in this place but workmen cutting stone, whist- 
ling as they pursued their labours. Having asked one 
day what this statue meant, some of them could hardiy 
give me any answer, and others were entirely ignorant of 
the subject. Nothing ever afforded a more just idea of 
human events, and our littleness. What is become of 
persons who made so much noise ? Time has taken a 
stride, and the face of the earth has been renewed. To 
generations, then divided by political animosity, have 
succeeded generations indifferent to the past, but filling 
the present times with new animosities, which succeeding 
generations will in their turn forget. 



ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



L— YOUNG. 



WHEN a writer has formed a new school, and is 
(bund, after the criticisms of half a century, to be still 
possessed of great reputation, it is important to the cause 
of literature that the reason of this success should be in- 
vestigated ; especially when it is neither ascribable to 
greatness of genius, nor to superiority of taste, nor to the 
perfection of the art. 

A few tragic situations and a few quaint words, with 
an indescribable, vague, and fantastic use of woods, 
heaths, winds, spectres, and tempests, account for the 
celebrity of Shakspeare. 

Young, w T ho has nothing of this nature in his works, 
is indebted, perhaps, for a great portion of his reputation, 
to the fine picture which he displays at the opening of 
his chief work, " The Complaint, or Night Thoughts 
on Life, Death, and Immortality." A minister of the 
Almighty, an aged father, who has lost his only daughter, 
wakes in the middle of succeeding nights to moan among 
the tombs. He associates death with tinre and eternity - 



80 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

through the only grand medium which man has within 
himself — I mean sorrow. Such a picture strikes the ob- 
server at once, and the effect is durable. 

But on advancing a little into these Night Thoughts, 
when the imagination, roused by the exordium of the 
poet, has created a world of tears and reveries, you will 
find no trace of what the author promised at the out- 
set. You behold a man, who torments himself in every 
way for the purpose of producing tender and melancholy 
ideas, without arriving at any thing beyond morose philo- 
sophy. Young was pursued by the phantom of the 
world even to the recesses of the dead, and all his decla- 
mation upon mortality exhibits a feeling of mortified am- 
bition. There is nothing natural in his sensibility, nothing 
ideal in his grief. The lyre is always touched with a 
heavy hand. Young has particularly endeavoured to im- 
part a character of sadness to his meditations. Now, 
this character is derived from three sources — the scenes 
of nature, the ideas floating upon the memory, and re- 
ligious principle. 

With regard to the scenes of nature, Young wished to 
avail himself of them as auxiliaries to his complaints, 
but I do not know that he has succeeded. He apostro- 
phizes the moon, and he talks to the stars, but the reader 
is not thereby affected. I cannot explain in what the 
melancholy consists, which a poet draws from a conteni- 
plation of nature ; but it is certain that he finds it at every 
step. He combines his soul with the roaring of the 
wind, which imparts to him ideas of solitude. A reced- 
ing wave reminds him of life — a falling leaf of man. This 
sadness is hid in every desert for the use of poets. It is 
the Echo of the fable who was consumed by grief, and 
the invisible inhabitant of the mountains. 

When the mind is labouring under chagrin, the re- 
flection should always take the form of sentiment and 



YOUNG. 81 

imagery, but in Young the sentiment, on the contrary, is 
transformed into reflection and argument. On opening 
the first Complaint I read : 

" From short (as usual) and disturb'd repose 

I wake : how happy they, who wake no more i 

Yet that were vain, if dreams infest the grave, 

I wake, emerging from a sea of dreams 

Tumultuous ; where my wreck'd desponding thought. 

From wave to wave of fancied misery, 

At random drove, her helm of reason lost. 

Though now restored, 'tis only change of pain, 

(A bitter change) severer for severe. 

The day too short for my distress, and night. 

Even in the zenith of her dark domain, 

Is sunshine to the colour of my fate." 

Is this the language of sorrow ? What is a wrecked 
desponding thought, floating from wave to wave of fan- 
cied misery ? Wliat is a night which is a swi, compared 
with the colour of a person's fate ? The only remarka- 
ble feature of this quotation is the idea that the slumber 
of the tomb may be disturbed by dreams ; but this di- 
rectly brings to mind the expression of Hamlet : " To 
sleep — to dream !" 

Ossian awakes also at midnight to weep, but Ossian 
weeps in reality. " Lead, son of Alpin, lead the aged to 
his woods. The winds begin to rise. The dark wave 
of the lake resounds. Bends there not a tree from Mora 
with its branches bare ? It bends, son of Alpin, in the 
rustling blast. My harp hangs on a blasted branch. 
The sound of its strings is mournful. Does the wind 
touch thee, oh harp, or is it some passing ghost ? Is it 
the hand of Malvina. But bring me the harp, son of 
Alpin, another song shall arise. My soul shall depart in 
the sound; my fathers shall hear it in their airy hall. 
Their dim faces shall hang with joy from their cloud, and 
their hands receive their son." 

L 



B2 ENGLISH LITERATURE, 

Here we have mournful images, and poetical reverie. 
The English allow that the prose of Ossian is as poetic as 
verse, and possesses all the inflexions of the latter ; and 
hence a French translation of this, though a literal one, 
will be, if good, always supportable ; for that, which is 
simple and natural in one language, possesses these quali- 
ties in every language. 

It is generally thought that melancholy allusions, 
taken from the winds, the moon, and the clouds, were 
unknown to the ancients ; but tfyere are some instances 
of them in Homer, and a beautiful one in Virgil. Enaeas 
perceives the shade of Dido in the recesses of a forest, as 
one sees, or fancies that one sees the new moon rising a- 
midst clouds. 

" Qualem firimo qui surgefe mense 
Aut videt, aut videsse fiutat per nubila lunam." 

Observe all the circumstances. It is the moon, which 
the spectator sees, or fancies that he sees crossing 
the clouds ; consequently the shade of Dido is reduced 
to a very small compass, but this moon is in its first 
phasis, and what is this planet at such a time ? Does not 
the shade of Dido itself seem to vanish from the "mind's 
eye?" Ossian is here traced to Virgil ; but it is Ossian 
at Naples, where the light is purer, and the vapours more 
transparent. 

Young was therefore ignorant of, or rather has ill ex- 
pressed melancholy, which feeds itself on the contempla- 
tion of nature, and which, whether soft or majestic, fol- 
lows the natural course of feeling. How superior is Mil- 
ton to the author of the Night Thoughts in the nobility 
of griei ! Nothing is finer than his four last lipes of Para- 
dise Lost : 



YOUNG. 33 

« The world was all before them where to chuse 
Their place of rest, and Providence their guide. 
They hand in hand, with wand'ring steps and slow, 
Through Eden took their solitary way." 

Iii this passage the reader sees all the solitudes of the 
world open to our first father, all those seas which water 
unknown lands, all the forests of the habitable globe, 
and man left alone with his sins amidst the deserts of 
creation. 

Harvey, though possessing a less elevated genius than 
the author of the Night Thoughts, has evinced a softer 
and more generous sensibility in his u Meditations among 
the Tombs.-" He says of an infant, which suddenly 
died : " What did the little hasty sojourner find so for- 
bidding and disgustful in our upper world, to occasion 
its precipitate exit ? It is Written, indeed, of its suffering 
Saviour, that, when he had tasted the vinegar, mingled 
with gall, he would not drink.* And did our new-come 
stranger begin to sip the cup of life ; but, perceiving the 
bitterness, turn away its head, and refuse the draught ? 
Was this the cause why the weary babe only opened its 
eyes, just looked on the light, and then withdrew into the 
more inviting regions of undisturbed repose ?" 

Dr. Beattie, a Scotch poet, has introduced the most 
lovely reverie into his Minstrel. It is when he describes 
the first effects of the Muse upon a young mountain bard, 
who as yet does not comprehend the genius, by w hich he 
is tormented. At one time the future poet goes and seats 
himself on the borders of the sea during a tpmpest ; at 
another, he quits the sports of the village that he may 
listen, first at a distance, and then more closely to the 
sound of the bagpipe. Young was, perhaps, appointed 
by nature to treat of higher subjects, but still he was not 

* Matthew, chapter 2F, verse 34. 



84 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

a complete poet. Milton, who sung the misfortunes of 
primeval man, sighed also in 77 Penseroso. 

Those good writers of the French nation, who have 
known the charms of reverie, have prodigiously surpassed 
Young. Chaulieu, like Horace, has mingled thoughts 
of death with the illusions of life. The following well 
known lines are of a melancholy cast much more to be 
admired than the exaggerations of the English poet. 

" Grotto, where the murm'ring stream 

Mossy bank and flow'ret laves, 
Be of thee my future dream, 

And of yonder limpid waves. 

Fontenay, delicious spot, 

Which my youthful life recals. 
Oh, when death shall be my lot, 

May I rest within thy walls ! 

Muses who dispell'd my woe, 

While the humble swain you bless'd, 
Lovely trees, that saw me grow, 

Soon you'll see me sink to rest." 

In like manner the inimitable La Fontaine indulges 
himself. 

ft Why should ray vfirse describe a fiow'ry bank ? 

Longer the cruel Fates refuse to spin 

My golden thread of life. I shall not sleep 

Beneath a canopy of sculptur'd pomp ; 

But will my rest for this be more disturb'd, 

Or will my slumbers less delight impart ? 

No, in the trackless desert let me lie," &c. 

It was a great poet, from whojn such ideas emanated ; 
but to pursue the comparison, there is not a page of 
Young, which can afford a passage equal to the following 



YOUNG. 85 

cue of J. J. Rousseau. "When evening approached, I 
descended from the higher parts of the island, and seated 
myself at the side of the lake in some retired part of the 
strand. There the noise of the waves and the agitation 
of the water fixed my attention, and driving every other 
agitation from my soul, plunged it into a delicious reve- 
rie, in which night often imperceptibly surprised me. 
The flux and reflux of the waves, with their continued 
noise, but swelling in a louder degree at intervals, un- 
ceasingly struck my eyes and ears, while they added to 
my internal emotions, and caused me to feel the pleasure 
of existence without taking the pains to think. From 
time to time a weak and short reflection on the instability 
of human affairs, occurred to me, which was supplied by 
the surface of the waters ; but these slight impressions 
were soon effaced by the uniformity of the continued mo- 
tion which rocked my mind to repose ; and which, with- 
out any active concurrence of my soul, attached me so 
strongly to the spot, that when summoned away by the 
hour and a signal agreed upon, I could not tear myself 
from the scene without a disagreeable effort." 

This passage of Rousseau reminds me that one night, 
when I was lying in a cottage, during my American tra- 
vels, I heard an extraordinary sort of murmur from a 
neighbouring lake. Conceiving this noise to be the fore- 
runner of a storm, I went out of the hut to survey the 
heavens. Never did I see a more beautiful night, or one 
in which the atmosphere was purer. The lake's expanse 
was tranquil, and reflected the light of the moon, which 
shone on the projecting points of the mountains, and on 
the forests of the desert. An Indian canoe was traversing 
the waves in silence. The noise, which I had heard, 
proceeded from the flood tide of the lake, which was be- 
ginning, and which sounded like a sort of groaning as it 
rose among the rocks, I had left the hut with an idea of 



96 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

a tempest — let any one judge of the impression which this 
calm and serene picture must have made upon me — it 
was like enchantment. 

Young has but ill availed himself, as I conceive, of 
the reveries, which result from such scenes ; and this 
arose from his being eminently defective in tenderness* 
For the same reason he has failed in that secondary sort 
of sadness, which arises from the sorrows of memory. 
Never does the poet of the tombs revert with sensibility 
to the first stage of life, when all is innocence and happi- 
ness. He is ignorant of the delights afforded by the re- 
collection of family incidents and the paternal roof. He 
knows nothing of the regret, with which a person looks 
back at the sports and pastimes of childhood. He ne~ 
never exclaims, like the poet of the Seasons : 

« Welcome, kindred glooms I 
Congenial horrors, hail I With frequent foot, 
Pleas'd have I, in my cheerful morn of life, 
When nurs'd by careless solitude I liv'd, 
And sung of nature with unceasing joy, 
Pleas'd have I wander'd through your rough domain, 
Trod the pure virgin snows, myself as pure." &c. 

Gray in his Ode on a distant view of Eton College 
has introduced the same tenderness of recollection- 

" Ah happy hills, ah pleasing sliade, 

Ah fields belov'd in Vain, 
Where once my careless childhood stray'U 

A stranger yet to pain ! 
I feel the gales that from you blow, 



My weary soul they seem to soothe, 
\nd redolent of joy and youth, 
To breathe a second spring.' 1 ' 



,7 



YOUNG. 8 

As to the recollections of misfortune, they are nume- 
rous in the works of Young. But why do they appear 
to be deficient in truth, like all the rest ? Why is the read- 
er unable to feel an interest in the tears of the' poet? 
Gilbert, expiring in a hospital, and in the flower of his age, 
finds his way to every heart, especially when he speaks of 
the friends who have forsaken him. 

" At life's convivial board I sat, 

And revellM in its choicest cheer* 
But now I'm call'd away by Fate, 

I die — and none will shed a tear. 

Farewell, ye streams and verdant glades, 

And thou, bright sun, with smile so warm ; 
farewell, ye placid forest-shades, 

Farewell to nature's every charm ! 
Oh may you long confer delight 

On friends I fondly deem'd so true, 
Who leave me now abandon'd quite, 

Without one final sad adieu I" 

Look in Virgil at the Trojan women, seated on the 
sea shore, and weeping while they survey the immensity 
of the ocean. 

« Cunctceque firofundum 
Pontum aspectabant jlcntes" 

What beautiful harmony ! How forcibly does it de- 
pict the vast solitude of the ocean, and the remembrance 
of their lost country ! What genuine sorrow is conveyed 
by this one weeping glance over the surface of the bil- 
lows ! 

M. du Parny has combined the tender charms of me- 
mory with another species of sentiment, His complaint 
st the tomb of Emma is full of that soft melancholy, 



88 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

which characterizes the writings of the only elegiac poet 
of France, 

u Frienctehip, with fugitive deception kindj 
Chases thy image, Emma, from my mind ; 
Emma, the charming object of my love, 
So lately call'd to blissful realms above. 
Sweet girl, how momentary was thy sway ! 
All from thy tomb now turn their eyes away 
Thy memory, like thyself, is sinking to decay. 



;,} 



The Muse or the poet, to whom w T e are indebted for 
Eleonora, indulged in reverie upon the same rocks where 
Paul, resting his head upon his hand, saw the vessel sail 
away, which contained Virginia. The cloistered Eloisa 
revived all her sorrows and all her love by even thinking 
of Abelard. Recollections are the echo of the passions ; 
and the sounds, which this echo repeats, acquire, from 
distance, a vague and melancholy character, which makes 
them more seductive than the accents of the passions 
themselves. 

It remains for me to speak of religious sadness. Ex- 
cept Gray and Hervey, I know only one protestant writer 
(M. Necker) who infused a degree of tenderness into sen- 
timents drawn from religion. It is known that Pope was 
a catholic, and that Dryden was the same at intervals, 
it is believed too that Shakspeare belonged to the Roman 
church. A father burying his daughter by stealth in a 
foreign land— what a beautiful subject for a christian mi- 
nister ! Notwithstanding this, but few affecting passages 
are to be found in Young's Complaint called Narcissa* 
He sheds fewer tears over the tomb of his only daughter 
than Bossuet over the coffin of Madame Henriettc, 

(i Sweet lianr»f.ni«;t, and beautiful as sweet I 
And young as beautiful, and soft ar» young ' 
A.i i soft, and innocent as gay I 



YOUNG. 89 

And happy (if aught happy here) as good 1 
For Fortune fond had built ber nest on high. 
Like birds quite exquisite of note and plume 
Transfix'd by Fate (who loves a lofty mark) 
How from the summit of the grove she fell. 
And left it unharmonious ! All its charms 
Extinguish'd in the wonders of her song ! 
Her song still vibrates in my ravish'd ear, 
Still melting there, and with voluptuous pain, 
(Oh to forget her !) trilling thro' my heart." 

This passage, all prejudice apart, I think intolerable, 
though it is one of the most beautiful in the French trans- 
lation of Young's Night Thoughts by M. Le Tourneur. 
Is this the language of a father ? Sweet harmonist or mu- 
sician, as beautiful as sweet, and young as beautiful, and 
soft as young, and gay as soft, and innocent as gay ! Is it 
thus that the mother of Euryalus deplores the loss of her 
son, or that Priam utters lamentations over the body of 
Hector ? M. de Tourneur has displayed much taste by 
converting Young's " birds, transfixed by Fate, who 
bves a bfty mark" into a nightingale struck by the 
fowler's shot.- It is a prodigious improvement, as may 
be instantly perceived. The means should always be 
proportioned to the object, and we ought not to use a le- 
ver for the purpose of raising a straw. Fate may dispose 
of an empire, change a world, elevate or throw down a 
great man, but Fate should not be employed in killing a 
bird. It is the durus orator, it is the feathered arrow 
which should be used to kill nightingales and pigeons. 

It is not in this way that Bossuet speaks of Madame 
Henriette. " She has passed," says he, " from morning 
to evening like the herbs of the field. In the morning 
she flourished — oh, with what elegance ! You know it. 
At night we saw her withered, and those strong expres- 
sions, by which the Scriptures almost exaggerate the insta- 

M ' 



90 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 






bility of human affairs, were precisely and literally verified 
in this Princess. Alas, we composed her memoirs of all 
that we could fancy most glorious. The past and the pre- 
sent were our guarantees for the future. Such was the 
history, of which we had formed the outline, and to com- 
plete our noble project, nothing was requisite but the du- 
ration of her life, which we did not think in any danger. 
For who could have supposed that years would be refus- 
ed to one of such vivacity in her youth ? By her death 
our plan is totally destroyed in a moment. Behold her — 
in spite of her great heart, behold this Princess lately so 
much admired and beloved ! See to what a state death has 
reduced her ; and even these remains, such as they are, 
will soon disappear." 

I should have liked to quote some pages of regularly 
supported beauty from the Night Thoughts of Young. 
Such are to be found in the French translation, but not in 
the original. The Nights of M. Le Tourneur, and the 
imitation of M. Colerdeau are works in all respects differ- 
ent to the English one. The latter only possesses beau- 
ties scattered here and there, and rarely supplies ten irre- 
proachable lines together. Seneca and Lucan may be 
sometimes traced in Young, but Job and Pascal never. 
He is not a man of sorrow — he does not please the truly 
unhappy. 

Young declaims in several places against solitude ; 
so that the habit of his soul was certainly not an inclina- 
tion to reverie.* The saints pursued their meditations 

* The English reader will probably not have agreed with M . 
de Chateaubriand on several points discussed in this criticism. 
Young can never be said to have disliked solitude. Let him 
speak for himself : 

" Oli lost to virtue, lost to manly thought, 

Lost to the noble sallies of the soul, 

Who think it solitude to be alone • 

Communion Afreet, communion large and high I" Sec. 

Editor, 



YOUNG, 9i 

in the deserts, and the Parnassus of poets is also a solitary 
mountain. B-.urdaloue intreated of the superior of his 
order permission to retire from the world. " I feel, 5 ' 
wrote he, " that my frame grows feeble, and approaches 
towards dissolution. I have run my course, and thank 
Heaven, I can add that I have been faithful to my God, 
— Let me be allowed to employ the remainder of my 
days in devotion to the Almighty, and ia securing my 
own salvation. In retirement I shall forget the affairs of 
this world, and humble myself with contrition every day 
before my Maker." If Bossuet, living amidst the mag- 
nificence of Versailles was able to diffuse a genuine and 
majestic species of sadness through his writings, it was 
because he found solitude in religion ; because though 
his body was in the world, his soul was in a desert ; be- 
cause his heart had found a sanctuary in the secret reces- 
ses of the tabernacle, because, as he himself said of Maria 
Theresa of Austria, he ran to the altar to enjoy humble 
repose with David ; because he shut himself, as that 
Princess did, in his oratory, where, in spite of the tumuk 
of the court, he found the carmel of Elias, the desert of 
Saint John, and the mountain, which so often witnessed 
the sorrows of Jesus." 

Dr. Johnson, after having severely criticized Young's 
Night Thoughts, finishes by comparing them to a Chinese 
garden. For my own part, all I have wished to say is, 
that if we impartially compare the literary works of other 
nations with those of France, we shall find an immense 
superiority in favour of our own country. We always at 
least equal others in strength of thought, while we are 
certainly superior in point of taste ; and it should ever be 
remembered that though genius produces the literary off- 
spring, taste preserves it. Taste is the good sense of 
genius, and without it the latter is only a silly species of 
sublimity. But it is a singular circumstance that this sure 



92 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

criterion, by which every thing yields the exact tone it 
ought to yield, is still less frequently found than the crea- 
tive faculty. Genius and wit are disseminated in about 
equal proportions, at all times ; but there are only certain 
nations, and among these only particular moments, at 
which taste appears in all its purity. Before and after 
this moment, every thing fails either from deficiency or 
excess. It is for this reason that perfect works are so 
rare ; for it is necessary that they should be produced in 
the happy hours of united taste and genius. This great 
junction, like that of certain heavenly bodies, appears only 
to take place after the lapse of several ages, and then en- 
dures only for a moment. 



93 



II.— SHAKSPEARE. 

AFTER having spoken of Young, I proceed to a man 
who has made a schism in literature, who is idolized by 
the country which gave him birth, admired throughout 
the North of Europe, and placed by some Frenchmen 
at the side of Corneille and Racine. 

It was Voltaire, who made France acquainted with 
Shakspeare. The opinion, which he at first formed of 
English tragedy, was, like most of his early opinions, 
replete with justice, taste, and impartiality. In a letter to 
Lord Bolingbroke, written about the year 1730, he ob- 
served : " With what pleasure did I see, while in London, 
the tragedy of Julius Caesar, which has been the delight 
of your nation for a century and a half!" On another 
occasion he said : " Shakspeare created the English 
stage. He had a genius abounding with vigorous con- 
ception ; he was natural and sublime, but he did not 
possess a single spark of taste, or the least knowledge of 
rules. I shall make a bold assertion, but a true one, 
when I state that this author spoiled the English stage. 
There are such beautiful scenes, such grand and terrible 
passages in his monstrous farces, which are called trage- 
dies, that his pieces have always been performed with 
great success." 

Such were the first decisions of Voltaire as to Shaks- 
peare ; but when an attempt was made to set up this 
great genius as a model of perfection, when the master- 
pieces of the Greek and French drama were declared in- 
ferior to his writings, then the author of Merope perceived 



94 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

the danger. He perceived that by elevating the beauties 
of a barbarian he had misled those, who were unable, 
like himself, to separate the pure metal from the dross, 
He wished to retrace his steps, and attacked the idol he 
had worshipped ; but it was then too late, and he in 
vain repented that he had opened the gate ta mediocrity , 
and assisted, as he himself said, in placing the monster on 
the altar. Voltaire had made England, which was then 
but little known, a sort of marvellous country to supply 
him with such heroes, opinions, and ideas as he wanted. 
Towards the clo.se of his life he reproached himself with 
this false admiration, of which he had only availed him- 
self to support his doctrines. He began to discover its 
lamentable consequences, and might unfortunately ex- 
claim : "Et quorum pars magna JuL" 

M. de la Harpe, an excellent critic, in his analysis of 
Shakspeare's Tempest, which was translated into French 
by M. Le Tourneur, exposed to full view the gross irre- 
gularitics of Shakspeare, and avenged the cause of the 
French stage. Two modern authors, Madame de Stael 
Holstein and M. de Rivarol have also passed sentence on 
the great English tragic poet ; but it appears to me that 
notwithstanding so much has been written on this sub^ 
ject, several interesting remarks may yet be made. 

As to the English critics, they have seldom spoken 
the truth respecting their favourite poet. Ben Johnson, 
who was first the disciple, and then the rival of Shaks- 
peare, shared with him at first their good opinion. Pope 
observes that " they endeavoured to exalt the one at the 
expense of the other." Because Ben Johnson had much 
the more learning it was said, on the one hand, that 
Shakspeare had none at all ; and because Shakspeare had 
much the most wit and fancy, it was retorted on the 
other that Johnson wanted both. Ben Johnson is orHv 



SHAKSPEARE. 95 

known at the present day by his Fox and his Alchy- 
mist.* 

Pope displayed more impartiality in his criticisms, 
" Of all English poets," says he, " Shakspeare must be 
confessed to be the fairest and fullest subject for criticism, 
and to afford the most numerous, as well as most con- 
spicuous instances, both of beauties and faults of all 
sorts." 

If Pope had abided by this judgment, he would have 
deserved praise for his moderation ; but soon afterwards 
he is hurried away by the prejudices of his country, and 
extols Shakspeare above every genius ancient and modern. 
He goes so far as even to excuse the lowness of some 
characters in the English poet by this ingenious compa- 
rison. " In these cases," says he, " Shakspeare's genius 
is like some prince of a romance in the disguise of a 
shepherd or peasant ; a certain greatness of spirit now 
and then breaks out, which manifest his higher extraction 
and qualities."! 

* Surely at present better known by Every Man in his Hu- 
mour than any of the pieces mentioned by the author. The Fox 
is never performed, and the Alchymist, which Garrick reduced to 
a farce, under the title of the Tobacconist, for the purpose of dis- 
playing his own inimitable powers in the character of Abel Drug"* 
ger, has been also laid on the shelf, none of our modern perform- 
ers having attempted that part except Mr. Emery. The great 
actor of the present day, however, Mr. Kean, is about to appear 
in the character. — -Editor. 

t M. de Chateaubriand has here been guilty of a great over- 
sight, for I will not suppose that he has wilfully perverted Pope's 
meaning to support his own philippic against our immortal bard. 
He seems to think that the above quotation was made upon irage- 
dy> whereas it was made upon cQxzedy> and every one must be 
aware that strictures upon the one are very unlike to be just as 
to the other* That the reader may judge Co? himself I will quote 
the whole passage from Pope. "In tragedy" says he. ^nothing 



06 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

Theobald and Sir Thomas Hanmer follow in their 
turn. Their admiration is without bounds. They at- 
tack Pope for having made some trifling corrections in 
the works of the great poet. The celebrated Dr. War- 
burton, who undertook the defence of his friend, informs 
us that Mr. Theobald was a poor man, and Sir Thomas 
Hanmer a poor critic ; that he gave money to the former, 
and notes to the latter. Even the good sense and discri- 
mination of Dr. Johnson seems to forsake him when he 
speaks of Shakspeare. He reproaches Rymer and Vol- 
taire for having said that the English tragic poet does not 
sufficiently preserve a verisimilitude of manners — that 
Shakspeare's Romans are not sufficiently Roman, and his 
kings not completely royal. " These," says he, " are the 
petty cavils of petty minds. A poet overlooks the casu- 
al distinctions of country and condition, as a painter, satis- 
fied with the figure, neglects the drapery." It is useless 
to descant upon the bad taste and falsity of this criticism. 
The verisimilitude of manners, far from being the drapery, 
is the leading feature of the picture itself. All those cri- 

was so sure to surprise and cause admiration, as the most strange, 
unexpected, and consequently most unnatural events and inci- 
dents ; the most exaggerated thoughts; the most verbose and 
bombast expressions ; the most pompous rhimes, and thundering 
versifications. In comedy, nothing was so sure to please as mean 
buffoonery, vile ribaldry, and unmannerly jests of fools and clowns. 
Yet even in these our author's wit buoys up, and is borne above 
his subject ; his genius in those low parts is like some prince of 
a romance in the disguise of a shepherd or peasant ; a certaic 
greatness and spirit now and then break out, which manifest his 
higher extraction and qualities." Surely Pope distinctly alludes, 
in these last lines, to comedy. As an excuse for the intro- 
duction of low parts among those of a graver cast, he merely says 
that Shakspeare" writ to the people," that "the audience was ge- 
nerally composed of the meaner sort," and that he was obliged te 
hit the taste and humour of the times, in order to gain a subsist- 
ence.— .Editor. 



3HAKSPEARE. 97 

tics, who incessantly dwell on nature, regarding the " ca- 
sual distinction of country and condition" as prejudices 
of the art, are like those politicians who plunge states into 
barbarity, by wishing to annihilate social distinctions. 

I will not enter into the opinions of Rowe, Steevens, 
Gildon, Dennis, Peck, Garrick, &c. Mrs. Montague 
has surpassed them all in point of enthusiasm. Hume 
and Elair are the only persons, who keep within tolerable 
bounds. Sherlock has dared to say (and it required cou- 
rage even for an Englishman to go so far) that there is 
nothing in Shakspeare, which can be called mediocrity ; 
that all he has written is cither excellent or detestable ; that 
he never followed nor even conceived a plan, excepting, 
perhaps, that of the Merry Wives of Windsor ; but thai: 
he often writes a scene very well. This critique very 
nearly approaches the truth. 

Mr. Mason, in his Elfrida and Caractacus, has tried, 
but without success, to transplant the tragedy of Greece 
into England. The Cato of Addison is now hardly ever 
played. At the Theatres of Great Britain the audience 
is only diverted by the monstrosities of Shakspeare, or the 
horrors of Otway. 

Were we contented to speak vaguely of Shakspeare, 
without deliberately weighing the question, and without 
reducing criticism to some particular points, we should 
never arrive at any proper explanation ; for by thus con- 
founding the age in which he ivrote with the genius of the 
Individual, and the dramatic art itself, every one might 
praise or censure the father of the English Theatre ac- 
cording to his inclinations. It appears to us that Shaks- 
peare should be considered with reference to all the three 
points, which I have just stated. 

First, then, as to the age in which he lived, Shaks- 
peare cannot be very much admired. He was perhaps 
superior to his cotemporarv Lope de Vega, but he can, 

N 



98 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

by no means, be compared with Gamier and Hardy, who 
at that time " lisped in numbers" among us, and uttered 
the first accents of the French Melpomene. It has been 
ascertained too that the prelate Trissino had, at the 
same period, caused regular tragedy to re-appear in 
Italy by the production of his Sophonisba. Curi- 
ous researches have been made for the translations of 
ancient authors, which existed in Shakspeare's time. I 
do not find in the catalogue any other dramatic pieces 
than one called Jocasta, taken from the Phoenicians of Eu- 
ripides the Andria and Eunuch of Terence, the Me- 
nechmi of Plautus and the tragedies of Seneca. It is 
doubtful whether Shakspeare had any knowledge of these 
versions, for he has not borrowed the foundation oi his 
plays from these original authors, even when they were 
translated into English, but has worked upon some Eng- 
lish imitations of the ancient sources. For instance, with 
regard to Romeo and Juliet, he has neither taken the story 
from Girolamo de la Corte, nor the novel of Bandello, but 
from a small English poem called the Tragical History of 
Romeo and Juliet. In like manner, he does not owe the 
story of Hamlet to Saxo Grammaticus, because he did 
not understand Latin.* It is known that, generally 
speaking, Shakspeare was an uneducated illiterate man. 
He was obliged to abscond from the country in which he 
resided, for having killed deer in a gentleman's park, and 
before he became an actor in London, took care of horses 
at the door of the theatre, while the owners of them at- 
tended the representation. It is a memorable circum- 
stance that Shakspeare and Molicre were performers ; 
both these men though so highly endowed with mental 
qualifications, were forced to tread the boards for the pur- 

* Sec Saxo Grammaticus from page 48 to 59. Amlethus ne 
prudentius agendo patruo suspectus redderetur ; stoliditatis simu- 
lationem amplexus, cxtremum mentis vitium finxit 



SHAJCSPEARE. 99 

pose of obtaining a livelihood. The one regained the 
dramatic art lost in the lapse of ages ; the other brought 
it to perfection- Like two philosophers of antiquity they 
shared the empire of smiles and tears ; and both, perhaps, 
consoled themselves for the injustice of fortune, the one 
in painting the follies, and the other the sorrows of man- 
kind. 

As to the second point, his genius, or natural talents, 
Shakspeare is not less prodigious than Moliere. I do not 
know, indeed, that any man ever examined human na- 
ture with deeper penetration. Whether he treats of the 
passions, whether he speaks of morals or policy, whether 
he deplores or foresees the misfortunes of states he has a 
thousand sentiments to cite, a thousand thoughts to intro- 
duce, a thousand applications to make with regard to all 
the circumstances of life. It is with reference to genius 
that the fine isolated scenes of Shakspeare should be con- 
sidered, and not merely as to their dramatic correctness. 
In this consists the principal error of the poets' admirers 
in England: for if these scenes be consideied according 
to the rules of art, it would be necessary to ascertain 
whether they are necessary, and whether they are properly 
connected with the subject. The " non erat his locus" 
occurs to the reader in every page of Shakspeare. 

Reverting, however, to the works of the great author 
himself, how beautiful is his third scene of the fourth act 
of Macbeth ! 

Enter Rosse. 
Macduff. See, who comes here ? 

Malcolm, My countryman, but yet I know him not. 
Macduff. My ever welcome cousin, welcome hither ! 
Malcolm, I know him now. Good God, betimes remove 

The means that make us strangers. 
Rosse. Sir, amen ! 

Macduff. Stands Scotland where it did ? 
Rosse, Alas, poor country, 



100 



ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



Almost afraid to know itself! It cannot 
Be call'd our mother, but our grave ; where nothing, 
But who knows nothing, is once seen to smile 
Where sighs and groans, and shrieks that rend the air 
Are made, not mark'd ; where violent sorrow seems . 
A modern ecstacy. The dead man's knell 
• Is there scarce askM for who: and good men's lives 
Expire before the flowers in their caps, 
Dying or ere they sicken. 

Macduff. Oh relation 

Too nice, and yet too true i 

Malcolm. What is the newest grief? 

Rosse. Let not your ears despise my tongue forever, 

Which shall possess them with the heaviest sound 
That ever yet they heard. 

Your castle is surpris'd, your wife and babes 
Savagely slaughter'd. To relate the man n er 
Where on the quarry of these murder'd deer 
To add the death of you. 



Malcolm. 


Merciful heaven ! 


Macduff. 


My children too ! 


Rosse. 


Wife, children, servants, all 




That could be found. 


Macduff. 


And I must be from thence 1 




My wife kill'd too ? 


JRosse. 


I have said. 


Malcolm. 


Be comforted. 


Macduff. 


He has no children. — All my pretty ones? 




Did you say all ? — O hell-kite, all ! 




What, all my pretty chickens and their dam 




At one fell swoop ?" 



What truth and energy in the description of Scot- 
land's misfortunes ! The smile, which is described to 
be only upon the countenance of infants, the cries of 
anguish which no one dares to observe, the deaths so 
frequent that no one inquires for whom the passing bell 



SNAKSPEARE. 101 

is tolling — docs not each Frenchman fancy that he sees 
the picture of his native land during the sway of Robes- 
pierre ? Xenophon has given almost a similar descrip- 
tion of Athens during the reign of the thirty tyrants. 
M Athens," observes he, " was only one vast tomb, in- 
habited by terror and silence. A look, a motion, a 
thought became fatal to the unfortunate citizens. The 
countenance of the victim was studied, and the 
wretches sought there for candour and virtue, as the 
judge endeavours to discover the marks of guilt in the 
countenance of a culprit *." 

The dialogue of Rosse and Macduff calls to mind 
that of Flavius and Curiatius in Corneille, when the for- 
mer announces to the lover of Camilla that he has been 
fixed upon to fight the Horatii. 

Curiatius. Has Alba of three warriors made her choice 7 . 

Flavius. She has, and I announce it. 
Curiatius. Who the three ? 

Flavius. Your brothers and yourself. 
Curiatius. Who ? 

Flavius, I have said. 

You and your brothers. 

The interrogations of Macduff and Curiatius are beau- 
ties of the same order. " My children too ?" — " Wife, 
children."— " My wife killed too ?"— I have said..." 
— " Who the three?" — " Your brothers and yourself." 
— Who V — H You and your brothers." But Shaks- 
peare's expression: — u He has no children" remains 
without a parrallel. 

The same artist, who painted this picture, wrote the 
charming farewell scene in Romeo and Juliet. Romeo, 
who is condemned to exile, is surprised by the morning- 
while with Juliet, to whom he is secretly married. 

* Xenoph. Hist. Grsec. Lib. 2. 



102 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

Juliet. Wilt thou be gone ? It is not yet near day ; 
It was the nightingale, and not the lark 
That pierc'd the fearful hollow of thine ear ; 
Nightly she sings in yon pomegranate tree. 
Believe me, love, it was the nightingale. 
Romeo. It was the lark, the herald of the morn, 

No nightingale. Look, love, what envious streaks 
Do lace the severing clouds in yonder east ; 
Night's candles are burnt out, and jocund day 
Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain tops. 
I must be gone and live — or stay and die. 
Juliet. Yon light is not day light — I know it, I : 
It is some meteor that the sun exhales. 
To be to thee this night a torch-bearer, 
And light thee on thy way to Mantua : 
Therefore stay yet; thou needst not to be gone, 
[Romeo. Let me be ta'en, let me be put to death, 
I am content, so thou wilt have it so. 
I'll say yon grey is not the morning's eye, 
'Tis but the pale reflex of Cynthia's brow j 
Nor that is not the lark, whose notes do beat 
The vaulty heav'n so high above our heads : 
I have more care to stay than will to go, 
Come death, and welcome — Juliet wills it so* 
How is't, my soul ? — Let's talk— it is not day. 
Juliet. It is, it is. Hie hence — begone — away ! 
It is the lark that sings so out of tune, 
Straining harsh discords, and unpleasing sharps. 
Oh now be gone — More light and light it grows." 

How affecting is this contrast of the charms of morn- 
ing and the last pleasures of a newly married couple, 
with the horrible catastrophe which is about to follow ! It 
is of a nature still more innocent than the Grecians can 
boast, and less pastoral than Amintas or Pastor Fido. 
T know only one parting scene, which can bear a compa- 
rison with Romeo and Juliet. It is to be found in an In- 
dian drama, translated from the Sanscrit language ; and 
even this arises from the novelty of the image, not at all 



5KAK3PEARE. 103 

from the interest of the situation. Sacontaia, wlien on the 
point of quitting the paternal roof, finds herself stopped : 

" Sacmtala. Ah ! what is it that clings to the skirts of my 
robe, and detains me ? 

Carina. It is thy adopted child, the little fawn, whose mouth, 
when the sharp points of Cusa grass had wounded it, has been so 
often smeared by thy hand with the healing oil of Ingudi ; who has 
been so often fed by thee with a handful of Syamaka grains, and 
now will not leave the footsteps of his protectress. 

Sac. Why dost thou weep, tender fawn, for me, who must 
leave our common dwelling place ? — As thou wast reared by me 
when thou hadst lost thy mother, who died soon after thy birth, so 
will my foster-father attend thee, when we are separated, with anx- 
ious care. Return, poor thing, return — we must part. 

\_Shc bursts into tears. 

Can. Thy tears, my child, ill suit the occasion. We shall all 
meet again ; be firm. See the direct road before thee, and follow 
it.— When the big tear lurks beneath thy beautiful eye-lashes, let 
thy resolution check its first efforts to disengage itself. — In thy 
passage over this earth, where the paths are now high, mow .low, 
and the true path seldom distinguished, the traces of thy feet must 
needs be unequal ; but virtue will press thee right onward." 

Published Translation cf Sacontaia, 

The parting scene of Romeo and Juliet is not pointed 
out by Bandeilo, and belongs entirely to Shakspeare. 
The fifty-two commentators on this author, instead of ac- 
quainting us with a number of useless things, should 
have employed themselves in discovering the beauties 
which appertain to this extraordinary man as his own pro- 
perty, and those which he has borrowed from others* 
Bandeilo thus records the parting of the lovers in jew 
words : 

" A la Sne, cominciande Paurora a voter uscire, si laasciaronc, 
estrettamente abbraciarono gli amanU, e piena di Jagrime e spsmji 
-scro adlo."* 

* ^jToveile del B 4 anj&Ilo, Seconds Parte. 



104 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

« At last, morning beginning to break, the two lovers kissed 
and closely embraced each other, then full of tears and sighs bade 
farewell." 

It may be remarked that Shakspeare generally makes 
great use of contrasts. He likes to exhibit gaiety at the 
side of sadness, to mix diversion and the shout of joy with 
funeral pomp and the voice of sorrow. The musicians, 
summoned to the marriage of Juliet, arrive precisely in 
time to follow her to the grave. Indifferent as to the 
afflictions of the house, they proceed to indecent pleasan- 
tries, and discuss matters totally irrelevant to the fatal 
event. Who does not in this recognize a true delineation 
of life? Who does not feel the bitterness of the pic- 
ture ? Who has not witnessed similar scenes ? These ef- 
fects were by no means unknown to the Greeks, and se- 
veral traces of them are to be found in Euripides ; but 
Shakspeare works them up to the highest pitch of tragedy. 
Phsedra has just expired, and the persons forming the 
chorus do not know whether they ought to enter the apart- 
ment of the princess. 

FIRST DEMI-CHORUS. 

Filai, ti dromen e dokei fieran dotnois, 
Ausai fanasfan de e/ii/w aston brochon, 

SECOND DEMI-CHORUS. 

7Hd*ou fiareisifirofio oloi neanai, 
Tofiolla firastein ek enasfihalei biou. 

" First Demi-Chorus. Companions, what shall wc do ? Ought 
we to enter into the palace, and assist in disengaging the queen 
lj ora her narrow confines ? 

Second Demi-Chorus. That care belongs to her slaves. Why 
arc they not present ? Those, who meddle with too, many affairs, 
have no safety in lire/* 






SHAKSPEARE. 105 

In Alccstes, Death and Appollo are jokers. Death 
wishes to seize Alcestes, while yet young, because he 
does not like an old victim, or as Father Brumoy trans- 
lates it, a wrinkled victim. These contrasts should not 
be entirely rejected, for they sometimes produce an effect 
bordering on the terrible, though a single shade of expres- 
sion, whether too strong or too weak, is sufficient to make 
them immediately low or ridiculous. 

Shakspeare, like all tragic poets, has sometimes suc- 
ceeded iu displaying genuine comedy, whereas comic 
poets have never achieved the point of writing good trage- 
dy. ; a circumstance which perhaps proves that there is 
something of a vaster nature in the genius of Melpomene 
than in that of Thalia. Whoever paints with skill the 
mournful side of human nature, is also able to represent 
the ridiculous one ; for he who attains the greater object 
can command the less. * But the mind, which particular- 
ly employs itself in the delineation of pleasantries, allows 
severer ideas to escape, because the faculty of distinguish- 
ing objects infinitely minute, almost always supposes the 
impossibility of embracing objects, which are infinitely 
grand ; whence it must be concluded that the serious is 
the true criterion of human genius, and exhibits our true 
nature. " Man that is born of a woman, hath but a short 
time to live, and is full of misery*" 

There is only one comic writer,, who walks at the 
side of Sophocles and Corneille — it is Moliere ; but it is 
remarkable that his comedies, entitled Tartuffe and the 
Misanthrope, greatly approached towards tragedy from 






* This I conceive to be what the lawyers term a non seguitur. 
It cannot be said that all tragic poets have been able to write 
comedy. Rowe, for instance, whose tragic powers are indisputa- 
ble (witness his Fair Penitent and Jane Shore) completely failed 
: ^ tie Biter, which w^s^theonly comedy he overwrote, — Editor 

o 



106 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

their sentiment, and if I may be allowed the expression 
m such a case, from their gravity. 

The English highly esteem the comic character of 
FalstafF, in the Merry Wives of Windsor. In fact it is 
well designed, though often unnatural, low, and outre, 
There are two ways of laughing at the faults of man- 
kind. The one is first to bring forward the ridiculous 
foibles of our nature, and then to point out its good 
qualities. This is the mode adopted by English writers; 
it is the foundation of the humour displayed by Sterne 
and Fielding, which sometimes ends in drawing tears 
from the reader. The other consists in exhibiting praise- 
worthy features at first, and adding in succession, a dis- 
play of so many ridiculous follies as to make us forget the 
better qualities, and lose at last all esteem for the noblest 
talents and the highest virtues. This is the French man- 
ner — it is the comedy of Voltaire— *it is the Nihil mirari 
Which disgraces our dramatic productions. 

The partisans of Shakspeare, who so much extol his 
genius both in tragedy and comedy, appear to me as if 
they much deceived themselves, when they boast that hk 
style is so natural. He is, I grant, natural in sentiment 
and thought, but never in expression, some few fine 
scenes excepted, in which he rises to his greatest height ; 
and even in these his language is often affected. He Kas 
all the faults of the Italians of his age, and is eminently 
defective in simplicity. His descriptions are inflated 
a»d distorted, frequently betraying the man of bad educa- 
tion, who is ignorant of common grammar and the exact 
use of words, and who combines, at hazard, poetic ex- 
pressions with things of the most trivial nature. Is it 
not lamentable that such an enlightened nation, which 
gave birth to critics like Pope and Addison, should be in 
t xtacies with the character of the starved apothecary in 
Romeo and Juliet ? It is the most hideous and disgust- 



SHAKSPEARE. 10? 

ting burlesque ; though I allow that a ray of light peeps 
through it, as is the case with all the shadows of Shaks- 
peare. Romeo makes a reflection upon this miserable 
man, who clings so closely to life though loaded with all 
its miseries. It is the same sentiment which Homer puts 
with so much simplicity into the mouth of Achilles, while 
in the regions of Tartarus. " I would rather be the 
slave of a labourer on earth, and lead a life of penury, 
than reign the sovereign of the land of shades." 

It remains to consider Shakspeare with reference to 
the dramatic art, and after having been an eulogist, I 
may now be allowed to become a critic. 

All that has been said in praise of Shakspeare, as a 
dramatic author, is comprised in this passage of Dr. Johri- 
son : " Shajcspeare has no heroes. His scenes are occu- 
pied only by men, who act and speak as the reader thinks 
that he should himself have spoken or acted on the occasion. 
Even where the agency is supernatural, the dialogue is 
level with life. Shakspeare's plays are not, in the critical 
and rigorous sense, either tragedies or comedies, but com- 
positions of a distinct kind ; exhibiting the real state of 
sublunary nature, which partakes of good and evil, joy 
and sorrow, mingled with endless variety of proportion, 
and innumerable modes of combination ; and expressing 
the course of the world, in which the loss of one is the 
gam of another ; in which, at the same time, the reveller 
is hastening to his wine, and the mourner burying his 
friend ; in which the malignity of one is sometimes de- 
feated by the frolic of another ; and many mischiefs and 
benefits are done and hindered without design." 

Such is the literary paradox of Shakspeare's admirers* 
and their whole argument tends to prove that there are no 
dramatic rules, or that the art is not an art. When Vol- 
taire reproached himself with having opened the gate to 
mediocrity, by too highly praising Shakspeare, he doubt- 



I 

108 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

less meant td say that by banishing all rules and return- 
ing to pure nature, nothing was more easy than to equal 
the best plays of the English nation. If, in order to at- 
tain the summit of the dramatic art, it is only requisite to 
Heap together incongruous scenes, without consequence 
or connexion, to blend the low with the noble, to mingle 
burlesque with the pathetic, to station a water-carrier near 
a monarch and a vender of vegetables at the side of a 
queen, who may not reasonably hope to become the rival 
of Sophocles and Racine ? Whoever finds himself so situ- 
ated in society as to see much of men and things, if he 
will only take the trouble of retracing the events of a sin- 
gle day, his conversations with the artisan or the minister, 
the soldier or the prince — if he will only recal the objects 
which passed under his eyes, the ball and the funeral pro- 
cession, the luxury of the rich and the distress of the poor 
— -if he will do this, I say he will at once have composed 
a drama in Shakspeare's style. It may perhaps be defi- 
cient in genius, but if Shakspeare be not discovered in 
the piece as a writer, his dramatic skill will be exactly 
imitated. 

It is necessary, therefore, to be first persuaded that 
there is an art in composition for the stage or press, that 
this art necessarily contains its genera, and that each genus 
has its rules. Let no one say that these genera and rules 
are arbitrary, for they are the produce of Nature herself, 
Art has only separated that, which Nature has confounded, 
selecting the most beautiful features without swerving from 
the likeness of the great model. Perfection tends in no de* 
gree towards tlie destruction of truth ; and it may be said 
that Racine, with all the excellence of his art, is more na- 
tural than Shakspeare, as the Belvidere Apollo, in all his 
grandeur of divinity, possesses more of the human form 
and air than a coarse Egyptian statue. 



SHAKSPEAEE, j - 109 

But if Shakspeare, say his defenders, sins against rules, 
confounds all the genera of the art, and destroys verisimi- 
litude, he at least produces more bustle in his scene^ 
and infuses more terror than the French* 

I will not examine to what extent this assertion is true, 
or whether the liberty of saying or doing every thing is 
not a natural consequence of tliis multitude of characters. 
I will not examine whether, in Shakspeare's plays, all pro- 
ceeds rapidly towards the catastrophe ; whether the plot 
is ravelled and unravelled with art, by incessantly pro- 
longing and forwarding the interest excited in the minds 
of the audience. I will only say that if our tragedies be 
really deficient as to incidents (which I by no means al- 
low) it is principally ascribable to the subjects of them ; 
but this does not prove that we ought to introduce upon 
our stage the monstrosities of the man, whom Voltaire 
called ^.drunken savage. A single beauty in Shakspeare 
does not atone for his innumerable faults. A gothic mo- 
nument may impart pleasure by its obscurity, and even by 
the deformity of its proportion ; but no one would think 
of chusing it as a model for a palace. 

It is particularly contended that Shakspeare is a great 
master in the art of causing tears to flow. I do not know 
whether it is the first oF arts to make a person weep, ac- 
cording to the way in which that expression is now un- 
derstood. Those are genuine tears which poetry pro- 
duces, but it is necessary that there should be as much 
admiration as sorrow in the mind of the person who sheds 
them. When Sophocles presents to my view CEdipus co- 
vered with blood, my heart is ready to break ; but my ear 
is struck with a gentle melancholy, and my eyes are en- 
chanted by a spectacle transcendantly fine. I experience 
pleasure and pain at the same moment. I have before me 
a frightful truth, and yet I feel that it is only an ingenious 
imitation of an action, which does not exist, perhaps ne* 



110 2NGUSH LITERATURE. 

vcr existed. Hence my tears flow with delight. I weep, 
but it is while listening to the accents of the Muses* 
Those daughters of Heaven weep also ; but they do not 
disfigure their divine faces by grimace. The ancients de- 
picted even their Furies with beautiful countenances, ap- 
parently because there is a moral beauty in remorse. 

While discussing this important subject, let me be al- 
lowed to say a few words respecting the quarrel which at 
present divides the literary world. Part of our men of let- 
ters admire none but foreign works, while the other part 
lean strongly to our own school. According to the former, 
the writers, who existed during the reign of Louis XIV. 
had not sufficient vivacity in their style, and betrayed a 
poverty of conception. According to the others, all this 
pretended vivacity, all these efforts of the present day, to- 
wards the attainment of new ideas, are only decadence and 
corruption. One party rejects all rules, the other recals 
them all. 

To the former it may be observed that an author is 
lost beyond redemption if he abandons the great models, 
which can alone keep us within the delicate bounds of 
taste, and that it is erroneous to think a style possessed of 
vivacity which proceeds ad infinitum in exclamations and 
interrogations. The second age of Latin literature had 
the same pretensions as ours. It is certain that Tacitus, 
Seneca, and Lucan possess a more varied style of colour- 
ing than Livy, Cicero and Virgil. They affect the same 
conciseness of ideas and brilliancy of expression, which 
we at present endeavour to attain. They load their de- 
scriptions ; they feel a pleasure in forming pictures to the 
" mind's eye;" they abound in sentiment, for it is al- 
ways during corrupt times that morality is most talked of. 
Ages, however, have passed away, and without regard to 
the thinkers of Trajan's time, the palm is awarded to the 
reign of Augustus, in which imagination and the arte floiv* 



SHAKSPBAEE. Ill 

rished at large. If examples were instructive, I could 
add that another cause of decay in Latin literature was 
the confusion of dialects in the Roman empire. When 
the Gauls sat in the Senate ; when within the walls of 
Rome, which was become the capital of the world, every 
jargon might be heard from the Gothic to the Parthian, it 
may easily be supposed that all taste for ths beauties of 
Horace and Cicero was at an end. The similarity is 
striking. At least, if it should still remain fashionable in 
France to study foreign idioms, and inundate us with 
translations, our language will soon lose its florid simplici- 
ty, and those gallicisms, which constitute its genius and 
grace. 

One of the errors, into which men of letters have fal- 
len, when in search of unbeaten roads, arises from the 
uncertainty which they observed to exist as to the princi- 
ples of taste. A person is a great author in one journal, 
and a miserable scribbler in another. One calls him a 
brilliant genius ? another a declaimer. Whole nations va- 
ry in opinion. Foreigners deny that Racine was a man of 
genius, or that his numbers are possessed of harmony ; 
and we judge of English writers in a very different way to 
the English themselves. It would astonish the French 
if I were to mention what French authors are admired 
and despised in England. 

All this, however, ought not to create an uncertainty 
of opinion, and cause original principles to be abandoned,, 
rander a pretext of there being no established standard of 
taste. There is a sure basis, which may always be relied 
upon, namely, ancient literature. This remains an in- 
variable model. It is round those, who point out such 
great examples, that we ought at once to rally, if we 
•,vould escape barbarism. If the partisans of the old 
school go a little, too far in. their dislike of foreign litera- 
tare, it may be overlooked. Upon this principle it was 



112 ENGLTSH "LlTERAtURS. 

that Bolleau opposed Tasso, asserting that the age in 
which he lived, had too strong a propensity to fall into 
the errors of that author. 

Still by ceding something to an adversary, shall wc 
not mere easily bring public opinion back to good mo- 
dels ? May it now be allowed that imagination and the 
arts were indulged to too great an extent in the reign of 
Louis XIV ? Was not the art of painting nature, as it 
is now termed, almost unknown at that time ? Why 
should it not be admitted that the style of the present day 
has really assumed a more perfect form, that the liberty 
of discussing any subject has brought a greater number 
of truths into circulation, that the sciences have imparted 
more firmness to the human mind, and more precision 
to human ideas ? I know that there is danger in allow- 
ing all this, and that if one point be yielded, it is difficult 
to know where to stop ; but still is it not possible that a 
man, by proceeding cautiously between the two lines, 
and always leaning rather towards the ancient than the 
modern one, may unite the two schools, and create from 
them the genius of a new era ? Be iliis as it may, every 
effort to produce so great a revolution will be abortive if 
we remain irreligious. Imagination and sentiment are 
essentially combined with religion. A species of litera- 
ture, from which the charms of tenderness are banished, 
can never be otherwise than dry, cold, and merely posses- 
sed of mediocrity.* 

* The reader will have found in the foregoing dissertation a 
considerable portion of genuine critical acumen, mingled with no 
r.mall share of the national partialities and prejudices, which M- 
ie Chateaubriand so freely ascribes to others. When Voltaire V> 
earlier observations are against Shakspeare it is declared that, 
v/hile young, his criticisms were" replete with justice, taste, and 
impartiality,*' but when he is not sufficiently abusive, his later 
attacks are preferred. Shakspeare is placed, by M. de Chateau - 
briand, below such crude authors as Gamier and Hardy. He is 



11: 



III.— BEATTIE. 

THE genius of Scotland has, during the present age, 
sustained with honour the literature, which Pope, Addi- 
son, Steele, Rowe, &c. had elevated to a high degree 
of perfection. England can boast of no historians superior 
to Hume and Robertson, and of no poets more richly 
gifted than Thomson and Beattie. The letter, who never 
left his native desert, was a minister and a professor of 
Philosophy, resident at a small town in the north of Scot- 
land. He is distinguished as a poet by a character entirely 
novel, and when he touched his lyre, he in some degree 
brought back the tones of the ancient bards. His prin- 
cipal, and as it were only work, is a small poem 
entitled the Minstrel, or the Progress of Genius. Beat- 
tie wished to pourtray the effects of the Muse on a young 
mountain shepherd, and to retrace the inspirations which 
he himself had doubtless felt. The original idea of the 

allowed to have " regained the dramatic art after it had been lost 
in the lapse of ages/* but this is only for the purpose of describ- 
ing Moliere as having brought it to perfection. Racine is de- 
clared to be more natural than Shakspeare, and it is deemed 
literary treason that the latter should have been elevated to the side 
of Corneille. I venture, however, to doubt whether a competent 
judge, of any nation, can peruse the scenes, from which M. de 
Chateaubriand himself has made extracts to show their compara- 
tive skill, without giving a decisive preference to our countryman. 
In spite of " the monstrosities" of this u barbarian" as M. de C. 
calls him, or this drunken savage, if he prefers Voltaire's expres- 
sion to his own, may the day soon arrive when Britain can boast 
of possessing another dramatic genius equal to Shakspeare ! 

Editor, 
P 






114 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

Minstrel is charming, and most of the descriptions are 
very agreeable. The poem is written in metrical stanzas, 
like the old Scotch ballads,* a circumstance which adds 
to its singularity. It is true that the author, like all 
foreigners, is sometimes too diffuse, and sometimes defici- 
ent in taste. Dr. Beattie likes to enlarge on common 
maxims of morality, without possessing the art of giving 
them a new appearance. In general, men of brilliant ima- 
gination and tender feelings are not sufficiently profound 
in their thoughts, or forcible in their reasoning. Ardent 
passions or great genius are necessary towards the con- 
ception of great ideas. There is a certain calmness of 
heart and gentleness of nature, which seem to exceed the 
sublime. 

A work like the Minstrel can hardly be analyzed ; 
but I will extract a few stanzas from the first book of this 
pleasing production. I would rather employ myself in 
displaying the beauties of an author than in nicely investi- 
gating his faults. I would rather extol a writer than de- 
base him in the reader's eyes. Moreover, instruction is 
better conveyed by admiration than censure ; for the 
one reveals the presence of genius, while the other con- 
fines itself to a discovery of blemishes which all eyes 
could have perceived. It is in the beautiful arrange- 
ments of Heaven that the Divinity is perceived, and not 
by a few irregularities of nature. 

* The stanza of Beattie's Minstrel is an avowed copy of the one 
used in the Fairy Queen. « I have endeavoured," says the au- 
thor, " to imitate Spenser in the measure of his verse, and in the 
harmony, simplicity and variety of his composition. This measure 
pleases my ear, and seems, from its Gothic structure and original, 
to bear some relation to the subject and spirit of the poem." 

Editor. 



fiEATTIE. 115 

« Ah ! who can tell how hard it is to climb 

The steep, where Fame's proud temple shines afar ; 

Ah ! who can tell how many a soul sublime 

Has felt the influence of malignant star, 

And wag'd with Fortune an eternal war ; 

Check'd by the scoff of Pride, by Envy's frown, 

And Poverty's unconquerable bar ; 

In life's low vale remote has pin'd alone, 

Then dropt into the grave, unpitied and unknown ? 

And yet the langour of inglorious days 

Not equally oppressive is to all : 

Him, who ne'er listcn'd to the voice of praise, 

The silence of neglect can ne'er appal. 

There are, who, deaf to mad Ambition's call, 

Would shrink to hear the obstreperous trump of Fame : 

Supremely blest, if to their portion fall 

Health, competence, and peace. Nor higher aim 

Had he, whose simple tale these artless lines proclaim- 

This sapient age disclaims all classic lore ; 
Else I should here, in cunning phrase display 
How forth The Minstrel fared in days of yore, 
Right glad of heart, though homely in array ; 
His waving locks and beard all hoary grey : 
And from his bended shoulder decent hung 
His harp, the sole companion of his way, 
Which to the whistling wind responsive rung ; 
And ever as he went some merry lay he sung. 

Fret not thyself, thou glittering child of Pride, 

That a poor Villager inspires my strain ; 

With thee let Pageantry and Power abide : 

The gentle muses haunt the sylvan reign ; 

Where through wild groves at eve the lonely swain 

Enraptur'd roams, to gaze on nature's charms. 

They hate the sensual, and scorn the vain ; 

The parasite their influence never warms, 

N*r him whose sordid soul the love of gold alarms. 



116 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

Though richest hues the peacock's plumes adorn, 

Yet horror screams from his discordant throat. , 

Rise sons of harmony and hail the morn, 

While warbling larks on russet pinions float : 

Or seek at noon the woodland scene remote, 

Where the grey linnets carol from the hill. 

O let them ne'er with artificial note, 

To please a tyrant strain their little bill, 

But sing what Heaven inspires, and wander where they will J 

Liberal, not lavish, is kind Nature's hand ; 

Nor was perfection made for man below. 

Yet all her schemes with nicest art are plann'd, 

Good counteracting ill, and gladness woe. 

With gold and gems if Chilian mountains glow ; 

If bleak and barren Scotia's hills arise ; 

There plague and poison, lust and rapine grow : 

Here peaceful are the vales, and pure the skies, 

And freedom fires the soul, and sparkles in the eyes." 

To this extract I will add a few more stanzas towards 
the end of the first book : 

" Oft when the winter storm had ceas'd to raye, 
He roam'd the snowy waste at even, to view 
The cloud stupendous, from th' Atlantic wave 
High-tow'ring, sail along the horizon blue : 
Where, inidst the changeful scenery, ever new, 
Fancy a thousand wond'rous forms descries, 
More wildly great than ever pencil drew, 
Rocks, torrents, gulfs, and shapes of giant size, 
And glitt'ring cliffs on cliffs, and fiery ramparts ris*. 

Thence musing onward to the sounding shore, 
The lone enthusiast oft would take his way. 
Listening, with pleasing dread, to the deep roar 
Of the wide-welt'ring waves. In black array 
When sulphurous clouds roll'd on the autumnal day. 
Even then he hasten'd from the haunt of man, 
Alon^ the trembling wilderness to stray, 
What tjmc the lightning's fierce career began, 
Vic! o'er heaven's rending arch the rattling thunder ran 



BEATTIE. 117 

Responsive to the sprightly pipe, when ail 

In sprightly dance the village youth were join'd, 

Edwin, of melody aye held in thrall, 

From the rude gambol far remote reclin'd, 

Sooth'd with the soft notes warbling in the wind, 

Ah then, all jollity seem'd noise and folly, 

To the pure soul by Fancy's fire refin'd, 

Ah what is mirth, but turbulence unholy, 

When with the charms compar'd of heavenly melancholy ! 

Is there a heart that music cannot melt ? 

Alas ! how is that rugged heart forlorn ! 

Is there, who ne'er those mystic transports felt 

Of solitude and melancholy born ? 

He needs not woo the Muse ; he is her scorn 

The sophist's rope of cobwebs he shall twine ; 

Mope o'er the schoolman's peevish page ; or mourn, 

And delve for life in Mammon's dirty mine ; 

Sneak with the scoundrel fox, or grunt with glutton swine. 

For Edwin, Fate a nobler doom had plann'd ; 
Song was his favourite and first pursuit. 
The wild harp wrang to his advent'rous hand, 
And languish'd to his breath the plaintive flute. 
His infant muse, though artless, was not mute : 
Of elegance, as yet he took no care ; 
For this of time and culture is the fruit ; 
And Edwin gain'd at last this fruit so rare ; 
As in some future verse I purpose to declare." 

It will be seen from the last stanza that Beattie in- 
tended to continue this poem, and he did in fact write a 
second canto sometime afterwards, but it is very inferior 
to the first. Edwin having attained manhood, takes 
walks " of wider circuit' ; than before. 

« One evening, as he fram'd the. careless rhyme. 
It was his chance to wander far abroad, 
And o'er a lonely eminence to climb, 
Which heretofore his foot had never trod ; 
A vale appear'd below, a deep retired abode, 



118 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

Thither he hied, enamour'd of the scene, 
For rocks, on rocks pil'd, as by magic spell, 
Here scorch'd with lightning, there with ivy green, 
Fenc'd from the north and east this savage dell. 
Southward a mountain rose with easy swell, 
Whose long long groves eternal murmur made ; 
And tow'rd the western sun a streamlet fell, 
Where, through the cliffs, the eye, remote, survey'd, 
Blue hills, and glitt'ring waves, and skies in gold array'c 

Along this narrow valley you might see 

The wild deer sporting on the meadow ground, 

And, here and there, a solitary tree, 

Or mossy stone, or rock with woodbine crown'd. 

Oft did the cliffs reverberate the sound 

Of parted fragments tumbling from on high ; 

And from the summit of that craggy mound 

The perching eagle oft was heard to cry, 

Or on resounding wings to shoot athwart the sky. 

One cultivated spot there was, that spread 
Its flow'ry bosom to the noon-day beam, 
Where many a rose-bud rears its blushing head, 
And herbs for food with future plenty teem. 
Sooth'd by the lulling sound of grove and stream^ 
Romantic visions swarm on Edwin's soul : 
He minded not the sun's last trembling gleam. 
Nor heard from far the twilight curfew toll ; 
When slowly on his ear these moving accents stole/" 

It is the voice of an aged hermit, who, after having 
known the illusions of the world, has buried himself in 
this retreat, for the purpose of indulging in meditation, 
and singing the praises of his Creator. This venerable 
old man instructs the young troubadour, and reveals to 
him the secret of his own genius. It is evident that this 
was a most happy idea, but the execution has not an- 
swered the first design of the author. The hermit speaks 
too long, and makes very trite observations with regard 
to the grandeur and misery of human life. Some pas- 






BEATTIE. 119 

sages are, however, to be found in this second book which 
recal the charm created by the first. The last strophes 
of it are consecrated to the memory of a friend, whom the 
poet had lost. It appears that Beattie was often destined 
to feel the weight of sorrows. The death of his only 
son affected him deeply and withdrew him entirely from 
the service of the Muses. He still lived on the rocks of 
Morven, but these rocks no longer inspired his song. 
Like Ossian, after the death of Oscar, he suspended his 
harp on the branches of an oak. It is said that his son 
evinced great poetical talents ; perhaps he was the young 
minstrel, whom a father had feelingly described, and 
whose steps he too soon ceased to trace upon the summit 
of the mountain. 



RECOLLECTIONS 



OF 



AMERICA. 



Q 



ON THE ISLAND OF QRACIOZA, 



ONE OF THE AZORES. 



IN the spring of 1791 I made a voyage to America, 
Before the vessel, which conveyed me, reached her desti- 
nation, we were in want of water, as well as provisions ; 
and finding ourselves near the Azores, resolved to touch 
there. Several priests were passengers in the same ship ; 
they were emigrating to Baltimore, under the guidance of 
the superior St. . . M. N. Among these priests were 
some foreigners, particularly Mr. T. . . a young English- 
man of an excellent family, who had lately become a con- 
Tert to the Roman faith. 

The history of this youth is too singular not to be re- 
corded, and will perhaps be more particularly interesting 
to the English reader. 

Mr. T. . . was the son of a Scotch woman and an 
English clergyman, who was, I believe, the rector of W. 
though I have in vain tried to find him, and may possi- 
bly have forgotten the right names. The son served in 
the artillery, and would no doubt have soon been distin- 
guished by his merit. He was a painter, a musician, a 
mathematician and master of several languages. He 
united with the advantages of a tail and elegant person 
the talents which are useful, and those which make us 
court the society of their possessor. 



124 RECOLLECTIONS OF AMERICA. 

M. N. superior of St having visited London on 

business, I believe in the year 1790, became acquainted 
with young T. . . This monk had that warmth of sou! 
which easily makes proselytes of men possessing the vi- 
vid imagination by which T. . . was distinguished. It 
was determined that the latter should repair to Paris, 
send the resignation of his commission from that place to 
the Duke of Richmond, embrace the Catholic religion, 
and, after entering into holy orders, accompany M. N. to 
America. The project was put in execution, and T. . . 
in spite of his mother's letters, which he could not read 
without tears, embarked for the new world. 

One of those chances, which decide our destiny, caus- 
ed me to sail in the same vessel as this young man. It 
was not long before I discovered his good qualities, and I 
could not cease to be atonished at the singular circum- 
stances, by which a wealthy Englishman of good birth 
should have thus been thrown among a troop of Catholic 
priests. T. . . perceived, on his part, that I understood 
him ; but he was afraid of M. N. who seemed averse to 
too great an intimacy between his disciple and myself. 

Meanwhile we proceeded on our voyage, and had not 
yet been able to open our hearts to each other. At 
length we were one night upon deck without any of the 
other priests. T. . . related to me his adventures, and we 
interchanged assurances of sincere friendship. 

T. . . was, like myself, an admirer of nature. We 
used to pass whole nights in conversation upon deck, when 
all were asleep on board the vessel, except the sailors 
upon duty, when all the sails were furled, and the ship 
rolled dully through the calm, while an immense sea ex- 
tended all around us into shade, and repeated the magni- 
ficent illumination of the star- sprinkled sky. Our 
conversations, at such times, were perhaps not quite un 
worthy of the grand spectacle which we had before our 
f yes ; and ideas escaped us which we schould be asham- 



TH£ ISLAND OF GliACIOZA. V2o 

cd of expressing in society, but which I should be happy 
to recal and write down. It was in one of these charming 
nights when we were about fifty leagues from the coast 
of Virginia, and scudding under a light breeze from the 
west, which bore to us the aromatic odour of the land, 
that T. . . composed for a French Romance, an air which 
exhaled the very spirit of the scene that inspired it. I 
have preserved this valuable composition, and when I 
happen to repeat it, emotions arise in my breast which 
few people can comprehend. 

Before this period, the wind having driven us consi- 
derably to the north, we found ourselves under the neces- 
sity of then also taking in water, &c. which we did at 
Saint Peter's Island, on the coast of Newfoundland. Dur- 
ing the fortnight we were on shore, T. . . and I used to 
ramble among the mountains of this frightful island, and 
lose ourselves amidst the fogs that perpetually prevail 
there. The sensitive imagination of my friend found 
pleasure in these sombre and romantic scenes. Some- 
times, when we wandered in the midst of clouds and 
storms, listening to the roaring waves which we could not 
discern, and lost ourselves upon a bleak desolate heath, 
or gazed at the red torrent which rolled among the rocks, 
T. . . . would imagine himself to be the bard of Cona, and 
in his capacity of Demi-Scotchman, begin to declaim 
from Ossian, or sing to wild airs, composed upon the spot, 
passages from that work. His music often led me back 
to ancient times — " 'Twas like the memory of joys that 
are past, pleasing and mournful to the soul." I am ex- 
tremely sorry that I did not write down the notes of some 
of these extraordinary songs, which would have astonish- 
ed amateurs and artists. I remember that we passed a 
whole afternoon in raising four large stones, to the memo- 
ry of an unfortunate man, in a little episode after the man- 
ner of Ossian, taken from my Pictures of Wature ',— a pro- 



12& ' RECOLLECTIONS OF AMERICA. 

duction, known to some men of letters, which has been 
destroyed. We thought of Rousseau, who amused him- 
self with overturning the rocks in his island, that he might 
see what was under them. If we had not the genius of 
the author of Emily, we had at least his simplicity. At 
other times we botanized. 

On our arrival at Baltimore, T. . . . without bidding 
me farewell, and without appearing to feel the intimacy 
which had subsisted between us, left me one morning, 
and I have never seen him since. When I retired to Eng- 
land, I endeavoured to discover his family, but in vain. 
1 had no wish but to ascertain that he was happy, and 
take my leave ; for when I knew him I was not what I 
now am. At that time I rendered him some service, and 
it is not congenial with my disposition to remind a person 
of the obligations conferred by me when rich, now that 
misfortunes have overtaken me. I waited upon the Bi- 
shop of London, but in the registers, which he permitted 
me to examine, I could find no clergyman of TVs name. 
I must have mistaken the orthography. All 1 know is that 
he had a brother, and that two of his sisters had places at 
court. I have met with few men, whose hearts harmo- 
nized more with mine than that of T. He had, neverthe- 
less an expression in his eye of some concealed thought, 
which I did not like. 

On the 6th of May, about eight o'clock in the morn- 
ing, we discovered the Peak of the island bearing the same 
name, which is said to surpass in height that of Teneriffe. 
Soon afterwards we perceived lower land, and towards 
noon cast anchor in a bad road, upon a rocky bottom, 
and in forty -five fathoms water. 

The island of Gracioza, before which we lay, is com- 
posed of small hills, that swell out towards their summits, 
so as to resemble the graceful curving form of Corinthian 

e». They were, at the period of which I am speak- 



THE ISLAND OF GRACIOZA. 127 

ing, covered with the fresh verdure of grain ; and it shed 
a pleasant odour peculiar to the Azores. In the midst of 
these undulating carpets, appeared symmetrical divisions of 
the fields, formed of volcanic stones, in colour black and 
white, heaped one upon another to the height of a man's 
breast. Wild fig-trees, with their violet leaves and little 
purple figs arranged upon the branches like knots of flow- 
ers upon a chaplet, were scattered here and there through 
the country. An abbey was visible at the top of a moun- 
tain, and at its base in a nook the red roofs of the little 
town Santa Cruz. The whole island, with all its bays, 
capes, creeks and promontories, was reflected from the 
waves. Great naked rocks constituted its exterior boun- 
dary, and formed a contrast, by their smoky colour, to 
the festoons of spray hanging to them, and appearing in 
the sun like silver lace. The peak of Peak Island, beyond 
Gracioza, majestically raised its head above a mass of 
clouds, and formed the background of the picture. A 
sea of emerald and a sky of the purest azure supplied the 
main tints of the scene, while the numerous sea-fowl and 
the grey crows of the Azores flew screaming and croaking 
round our vessel as she lay at anchor, or cut the surface 
of the billow with their wings expanded in the shape of a 
sickle, augmenting around us noise, motion and life. 

It was decided that I should land as interpreter with 
T. another young man, and the second captain. The 
boat was hoisted out, and the sailors began to row us to- 
wards the shore, which was about two miles from the ship. 
It was not long before we observed a bustle on the coast, 
and a pinnace approaching us. The moment it came 
within hail, we distinguished in it a number of monks. 
They addressed us in Portugueze, Italian and English ; 
and we replied in these three languages, that we were 
Frenchmen. Great alarm prevailed in the island. Our 
vessel was the first of large bulk that had ever appeared 



1-28 RECOLLECTIONS 01 AMERICA. 

there, and ventured to anchor in the dangerous road where 
she now was. The new tri-coloured flag had likewise 
never been seen in this part of the world before ; and 
the inhabitants knew not but that we might be from 
Algiers or Tunis. When they saw that we wore 
the human form, and understood what was said to 
us, their joy was universal. The monks invited us into 
their pinnace, and we soon reached Santa Cruz, where we 
landed with difficulty on account of a violent surge which 
continually beats there. 

All the inhabitants of the island ran to see us. Four 
or five unhappy men, who had been hastily armed with 
pikes, formed our guard. The uniform of his Majesty 
attracting particular notice, I passsed for the important 
man of the deputation. We were conducted to the Go- 
vernor's miserable house, where his Excellency, who was 
attired in an old green dress which had formerly been or- 
namented with gold lace, gave us an audience of recep- 
tion, and graciously permitted us to purchase the articles 
we wanted. 

After this ceremony we were dismissed, and the ho- 
nest monks conducted us to a large hotel, which was neat, 
commodious and much more like the Governor's palace 
than the one he inhabited. 

T. . . . had found a fellow countryman. The brother, 
who was most active for us, was a Jersey sailor, whose 
vessel had been wrecked at Gracioza several years before. 
He was the only one of the crew who escaped death, and 
being not deficient, as to intelligence, he perceived that 
there was only one trade in the island, that of the monks. 
He resolved, therefore, to become one, listened with great 
docility to the instructions of the holy fathers, learnt Por- 
tugueze as well as a few words of Latin, and being recom- 
mended by the circumstance of his belonging to England, 
this wandering sheep was admitted into the sacred fold. 



THE ISLAND OF GRACIOZA. 129 

As it was long since he had spoken his own language, 
he was delighted to find any one that understood it. He 
walked with us in the island, and took us to his convent. 

Half Gracioza appeared to me, without much exag- 
geration, to be peopled with monks, and the following cir- 
cumstance may serve to convey an idea of the ignorance, 
in which these good fathers remained at the close of the 
eighteenth century. 

We had been mysteriously conducted to a small or- 
gan in the parish church, under the idea that we had never 
seen so curious an instrument. The organist took his 
seat with a triumphant air, and played a most miserable 
discordant sort of litany, trying all the time to discover our 
admiration in our looks. We appeared to be extremely 
surprised. T. . . . then modestly approached, and seem- 
ed just to touch the keys with great respect. The organ- 
ist made signs to him, as if saying : " Take care." All 
at once T. . . . displayed the harmony of a celebrated pas- 
sage in the compositions of Pieyel. It would be difficult 
to imagine a more amusing scene. The organist almost 
fell to the earth ; the monks stood openmouthed with pale 
and lenthened visages, while the brothers in attendance 
made the most ridiculous gestures of astonishment around 
us. 

Having embarked our provisions on the following day, 
we ourselves returned on board, accompanied by the good 
fathers, who took charge of our letters for Europe, and 
left us with great protestations of friendship. The vessel 
had been endangered, during the preceding night, by a 
brisk gale from the East. We wished to weigh anchor, 
but, as we expected, lost it. Such was the end of our ex- 
pedition, 

R 



130 RECOLLECTIONS OF AMERICA. 

A few words concerning the Cataract of Canada 

THIS famous cataract is the finest in the known 
world. It is formed by the river Niagara, which proceeds 
from Lake Erie, and throws itself into the Ontario. The 
fall is about nine miles from the latter lake. Its perpendi- 
cular height may be about two hundred feet ; but the 
cause of its violence is that, from Lake Erie to the cata- 
ract, the river constantly flows with a rapid declination for 
almost six leagues : so that, at the place of fall, it is more 
like an impetuous sea than a river, and a hundred thou- 
sand torrents seem to be rushing towards the gaping 
gulph. The cataract is divided into two branches, and 
forms a curve, in the shape of a horse- shoe, the length of 
which is about half a mile. Between the two falls is an 
enormous rock hollowed out below, which hangs with all 
its firs, over the chaos of the waters. The mass of the ri« 
ver, which precipitates itself on the south side, is collected 
into the form of a large cylinder at the moment it quits the 
brink, then rolls out in snowy whiteness, and shines in 
the sun with every variety of prismatic colours. That, 
which falls on the northern side, descends in a terrific cloud 
like a column of water at the deluge. Innumerable bows 
are to be seen in the sky, curving and crossing over the 
abyss, and from it proceeds a horrid roar which is heard 
to the distance of sixty miles around. The water, thus 
furiously falling on the rock beneath, recoils in clouds of 
whirling spray, which mount above the summits of the 
forest, and resemble the thick smoke of a tremendous con- 
flagration. Enormous rocks, towering upwards like gi- 
gantic phantoms, decorate the sublime scene. Wild wal- 
nut trees, of a reddish and scaly appearance, find the. 
means of desolate existence upon these fossil skeletons. 
Scarcely a living animal is seen in the neighbourhood, ex- 
cept eagles, which, as they hover above the cataract io 



THE CATARACT GF CANADA. 131 

search of prey, are overpowered by the current of air, and 
forced with giddy fall to the bottom of the abyss. 

The spotted Carcajou, suspended by its long tail from 
the extremity of a lower branch, tries to catch the frag- 
ments of drowned carcases which are thrown ashore by 
the boiling surge, such as those of elks and bears ; while 
rattlesnakes announce, by their baleful sound, that they are 
lurking on every side. 



132 



VISIT 



TO THE COUNTRI OF THE SAVAGES. 



I TOOK my departure for the country of the Swa- 
ges in a packet boat, which was to convey me frcm New 
York to Albany by Hudson's river. The passengers 
were numerous and agreeable, consisting of several wo- 
men and some American Officers. A fresh breeze con- 
ducted us gently towards our destination Towards the 
evening of the first day, we assembled upon deck, to 
partake of a collation of fruit and milk. The women 
seated themselves upon the benches, and the men were 
stationed at their feet. The conversation was not long 
kept up. I have always remarked that when nature ex- 
hibits a sublime or beautiful prospect, the spectators 
involuntarily become silent. Suddenly one of the com- 
pany exclaimed : " Near that place Major Andre was 
executed." My ideas instantly took another turn. A 
very pretty American lady was intreated to sing the bal- 
lad, which describes the story of that unfortunate young 
man. She yielded to our solicitation ; her voice evident- 
ly betrayed her timidity, but it was exceedingly replete 
with sweet and tender sensibility. 

The sun now set, and we were in the midst of lofty 
mountains. Here and there huts were seen, suspended 



VISIT TO THE SAVAGES. 13S 

over the abysses, but they soon disappeared among the 
clouds of mingled white and rosy hue, which horizontally 
flitted past these dwellings. When the summits of the 
rocks and firs were discovered above these clouds, one 
might have fancied them to be islands floating in the air. 
The majestic river, the tides of which run North and 
South, lay ou stretched before us in a strait line, inclosed 
between two exactly parallel banks. Suddenly 
it took a turn to the West, winding its golden waves 
around a mountain which overlooked the river with all 
its plants, and had the appearance of a large boquet^ tied 
at its base with azure riband. We preserved a profound 
silence ; for my own part, I hardly ventured to breathe. 
Nothing interrupted the plaintive song of the fair passen- 
ger, except the sound (of w T hich we were hardly sensible) 
made by the vessel, as it glided before a light breeze 
through the water. Sometimes the voice acquired an ad- 
ditional swell when we steered near the bank, and in two 
or three places it was repeated by a slight echo. The 
ancients would have imagined that the soul of Andre, at- 
tracted by this impressive melody, felt a pleasure in mur- 
muring its last notes among the mountains. The idea 
of this brave and unfortunate man, who was a lover and 
a poet, who died for his country in the flower of his age, 
regretted by his fellow citizens and honoured by the tears 
of Washington, spread over this romantic scene a softer 
tint. The American officers and I had tears in our eyes 
— I from the effect of the delicious state of mind into 
which I was plunged — They no doubt from the recollec- 
tion of their country's past troubles, which doubled the 
calmness of the present moment. They could not, with- 
out a sort of ecstacy, contemplate a district, lately cover- 
ed with battalions in glittering arms, and resounding 
with the noise of war, now buried in profound tranquillity, 



134 RECOLLECTIONS OF AMERICA. 

lighted by the last fires of day, decorated with all the 
pomp of nature, animated by the soft whistle of Virginian 
nightingales, and the cooing of wild pigeons ; while the 
simple inhabitants were seated on the point of a rock, at 
some distance from their cottages, and quietly observed 
our vessel as it passed along the river beneath them. 

The tour, which I made on this occasion, was in fact 
only a prelude to a journey of much greater importance, 
the plan of which I communicated, on my return, to M. 
de Malesherbes, who was to have laid it before govern- 
ment. I intended nothing less than to decide, by a land 
investigation, the great question of a passage from the 
South sea into the Atlantic by the North. It is known 
that, in spite of the efforts made by Captain Cook, and 
subsequent navigators, this point has always remained 
doubtful. In 1786 a merchantman pretended to have en- 
tered an interior sea of North America at 48 lat. N. and 
those on board asserted that all, which had been con- 
sidered as continental coast to the North of California, 
was a long chain of islands extremely close to each other. 
On the other hand, a traveller from Hudson's Bay saw 
the sea at 72° lat. N. at the mouth of the river Cuivre. 
It is said that a frigate arrived last summer, which had 
been sent by the British Admiralty to ascertain the truth 
or fallacy of the discovery made by the merchantman a- 
bove mentioned, and that this frigate confirms the truth 
of Cook's reports. Be this as it may, I will just state 
what was my plan. 

If government had favoured the project, I should 
have embarked for New- York. There I should have 
had two immense covered waggons made, to be drawn by 
four yoke of oxen. I should have also procured six small 
Worses, such as those which I used on my first expedition. 

otlW have taken with me three European servants, and 



VISIT TO THE SAVAGBS. 135 

three savages of the Five-Nations. Reasons operate to 
prevent the mention of some particulars of the plan which 
it was my intention to follow ; the whole forms a small 
volume in my possession, which would not be useless to 
those who explore unknown regions. Suffice it to say 
that I would have renounced all ideas of traversing the 
deserts of America, if it would have cost the simple in- 
habitants a single tear. I should have wished that among 
the savages, the man with a long beard might, long after 
my departure, be spoken of as the friend and benefactor 
of the human race. 

When I had made every preparation, I should have 
set out directly towards the West, proceeding along the 
lakes of Canada to the source of the Mississippi, which I 
should have ascertained. Then descending by the plains 
of Upper Louisiana as far as the 40th degree of Northern 
latitude, I should have resumed my course to the West, 
so as to have reached the coast of the South Sea a little 
above the head of the gulph of California. Following 
the coast and keeping the sea always in sight, I should 
next have proceeded due North, thereby turning my 
back on New Mexico. If no discovery had altered my 
line of progress, I should have pursued my way to the 
mouth of Cook's Inlet, and thence to the river Cuivre in 
12 degrees lat. N. Finally, if I had no where found a 
passage, and could not double the most Northern Cape 
of America, I should have re-entered the United States 
by Hudson's Bay, Labrador and Canada. 

Such was the immense and perilous voyage, which I 
proposed to undertake for the service of my country and 
Europe. I calculated that it would occupy (all accidents 
apart) five to six years. There can be no doubt of its 
utility. I should have given an account of the three 
kingdoms of Nature, of the people and their manners; J 
should have sketched the principal vkws, &c. 



136 RECOLLECTIONS OF AMERICA. 

As to the perils of the journey, they were undoubted- 
ly great, and those, who make nice calculations on this 
subject, will probably not be disposed to travel among 
savage nations. People alarm themselves, however, too 
much in this respect. When I was exposed to any dan- 
ger, in America, it was always local and caused by my 
own imprudence, not by the inhabitants. For instance, 
when I was at the cataract of Niagara, the Indian ladder 
being broken which had formerly been there, I wished, 
in spite of my guide's representations, to descend to the 
bottom of the fall by means of a rock, the craggy points 
of which projected. It was about two hundred feet high, 
and I made the attempt. In spite of the roaring cataract, 
and frightful abyss which gaped beneath me, my head 
did not swim, and I descended about forty feet, 
but here the rock became smooth and vertical ; nor were 
there any longer roots or fissures for my feet to rest upon. 
I remained hanging all my length by my hands, neither 
being able to reascend nor proceed, feeling my fingers 
open by degrees from the weight of my body, and con- 
sidering death inevitable. There are few men, who have, 
in the course of their lives, passed two such minutes as I 
experienced over >the yawning horrors of Niagara. My 
hands at length opened and I fell. By most extraordi* 
nary good fortune I alighted on the naked rock. It was 
hard enough to have dashed me in pieces, and yet I did 
not feel much injured. I was within half an inch of the 
abyss, yet had not rolled into it ; but when the cold 
Water began to penetrate to my skin, I perceived that I 
had not escaped so easily as I at first imagined. I felt in- 
supportable pain in my left arm ; I had broken it above 
the elbow. My guide, who observed me from above, 
and to whom I made signs, ran to look for some savages, 
who with much trouble drew me up by birch cords, and 
carried me to their habitations. 



VISIT TO THE SAVAGES. 157 

This was not the only risk I ran at Niagara. On 
arriving at the cataract, I alighted and fastened my horse's 
bridle round my arm. As I leaned forward to look 
down, a rattle-snake moved in the neighbouring bushes. 
The horse took fright, reared on his hind legs and ap- 
proached the edge of the precipice. I could not disen- 
gage my arm from the bridle, and the animal, with in- 
creasing alarm, drew me after him. His feet were al- 
ready on the point of slipping over the brink of the gulph, 
and he was kept from destruction by nothing but the reins. 
My doom seemed to be fixed, when the animal, astonish- 
ed at the new danger which he all at once perceived, made 
a final effort, and sprung ten feet from the edge of the pre- 
cipice, 



138 



A NIGHT 



AMONG THE SAVAGES OF AMERICA, 



IT is a feeling, natural on the part of the unfortunate, 
to aim at the illusions of happiness by the recollection of 
past pleasures. When I feel weary of existence, when I 
feel my heart torn by the effects of a commerce with man- 
kind, I involuntarily turn aside, and cast a look of regret. 
Enchanting meditations ! Secret and ineffable charms of 
a soul which enjoys itself, it was amidst the immense de- 
serts of America that I completely tasted you ! Every one 
boasts of loving liberty, and hardly any one has a just 
idea of it. When I travelled among the Indian tribes of 
Canada — when I quitted the habitations of Europeans, 
and found myself, for the first time, alone, amidst bound- 
less forests, having all nature, as it were prostrate at my 
feet, a strange revolution took place in my sensations. I 
was seized with a sort of delirium, and followed no track, 
but went from tree to tree, and indifferently to the right or 
left, saying to myself : " Here there is no multiplicity of 
roads, no towns, no confined houses, no Presidents, Re- 
publics and Kings, no laws and no human beings. — Hu- 
man beings ! Yes — some worthy savages, who care noth- 
ing about me, nor I about them ; who, like myself wan- 
der wherever inclination leads them, eat when they wish 



A tflGHT AMONG THE SAVAGJiS* 139 

it, and sleep where they please. To ascertain whether I 
was really in possession of my original rights, I put in 
practice a thousand acts of human will, as fancy suggest- 
ed them. These proceedings highly enraged the great 
Dutchman, who accompanied me as a guide, and who in 
his soul belie \ ed me to be a madman. 

Released from the tyrannical yoke of society, I com- 
prehended the charms of that natural independence, far 
surpassing all the pleasures of which civilized man can 
have an idea. I comprehended why a savage was unwill- 
ing to become an European, why several Europeans had 
become savages, and why the sublime discussion on the 
inequality of conditions was so little understood by most 
of our philosophers. It is incredible to what a state of lit- 
tleness nations and their highly boasted institutions were 
reduced in my eyes. It appeared to me that I was look- 
ing at the kingdoms of the earth wiJi an inverted telescope, 
or rather that I myself was enlarged, exalted, and contem- 
plating, with the eyes of a giant, the remains of my dege. 
nerate fellow creatures. 

You, who wish to write of mankind, transport your- 
selves into the deserts. Become for an instant the chil- 
dren of nature — then, and not till then take the pen. 

Among die innumerable enjoyments, which I expe- 
rienced during these travels, one in particular made a 
lively impression upon my heart.* 

* Almost all that follows is taken from the manuscript of my 
Travels in America, which perished together with several other 
incomplete works. Among them I had begun one, Les Table- 
aux de la Nature, which was the history of a savage tribe in Ca- 
nada, moulded into a sort of romance. The frame, which inclose- 
ed these pictures of nature, was entirely new, and the paintings 
themselves, being strange to our climate, might have merited the 
indulgence of the reader. .Some praise has been bestowed upon 
my manner of delineating nature, but if the public had seen the 
w»rk now mentioned, written as it was by fragments on my knee 



140 RECOLLECTIONS OF AMERICA* 

I was going to see the celebrated cataract of Niagara and 
had taken my road through the Indian nations, which in- 
habit the wilds west of the American plantations. My 
guides were the sun, a pocket compass, and the Dutch- 
man whom I have mentioned. This man perfectly under- 
stood five dialects of the Huron language. Our equipage 
consisted of two horses, to the necks of which we fastened 
a bell at night and then allowed them to go at large in the 
forest. At first I was rather afraid of losing them, but my 
guide removed this apprehension by pointing out the ad- 
mirable instinct, which causes these sagacious animals ne- 
ver to wander out of sight of our fire. 

One evening, when we conceived that we had pro- 
ceeded so far as to be only about eight or nine leagues 
from the cataract, we were just about to alight from our 
horses, that we might prepare our hovel, and light our 
fire according to the Indian custom. At this moment 
Ave perceived a blaze in the woods, and soon afterwards 
espied some savages seated on the bank of the same 
stream, which flowed past us. , We approached them, 
and the Dutchman having, by my order, asked permis- 
sion to pass the night with them, it was granted on the 
spot. Accordingly we all began our labours together. 
After having cut branches from the trees, fixed stakes in 
the ground, stripped off bark to cover our palace, and per- 
formed some other general services, each of us turned his v 
attention to his own affairs. I fetched my saddle, which 

among: tlie savages themselves, in the forests and on the banks of 
American lakes, I presume to state that they would probably have 
Pound matter more deserving their notice. Of all this work only 
a lew detached leaves remain in my possession, and among them 
i , the Night, which I now insert. I was destined to lose by the 
revolution fortune, parents, friends, and what is never to be regain- 
ed when once lost, the detail of reflections as they naturally arose 
during my travels. Our thoughts are perhaps the only property 
ro he called really our own— even these were taken from me, 



A NIGHT AMONG THE SAVAGES. 141 

faithfully served as my pillow during the whole journey* 
The guide attended to our horses, and with regard to his 
preparations for the night, he was not so delicate as my- 
self, and generally availed himself of some old trunk of 
a tree for his bed. Our work being finished, we seated 
ourselves in a circle, with our legs crossed like tailors* 
In the centre of us was an immense fire, at which we pre- 
pared our maize for supper. I had a bottle of brandy 
too, which not a little increased the gay spirits of the sa- 
vages. They produced in return some legs of bear, and 
We made a royal repast. 

The party was composed of two women with infants 
at the breast, and three warriors. Two of the latter 
might be about forty to forty-five years of age, though 
they appeared to be much older ; the third was a young 
man. 

The conversation soon became general, that is to say, 
by some broken expressions on my part, and by many 
gestures, an expressive kind of language, which the In- 
dian tribes comprehend with astonishing readiness, and 
which I learnt among them. The young man alone pre- 
served an obstinate silence, keeping his eyes stedfastly 
fixed on me. In spite of the black, red, and blue streaks, 
with which he was disfigured, and the further mutilation 
of having no ears, it was easy to perceive the noble and 
sensible expression which animated his countenance. 
How favorably did I think of him for not liking me ! He 
appeared to be mentally reading the history of all the 
calamities, with which Europeans had overburthened his 
Country. 

The two little children, which were entirely naked, 
had fallen asleep at our feet, before the fire. The women 
took them gently in their arms, and laid them upon skins, 
with that maternal c^re which it was delicious to observe 
among these pretended savages. The conversation at 



i4£ f RECOLLECTIONS OP* AMERICA. 

length died away by degrees, and each person sunk to 
rest in the place which he had hitherto occupied. 

I was, however, an exception, being unable to close 
my eyes. Hearing the deep breathing of my compa- 
nions on all sides, I raised my head, and resting on my 
elbow, contemplated, by the red light of the expiring fire, 
the sleeping Indians stretched around me. I acknow- 
ledge that I found it difficult to refrain from tears. Good 
young man 1 How affecting did thy repose appear to me ! 
Thou, who didst seem so feelingly alive to the misfor- 
tunes of thy country, wert of too lofty and superior a dis- 
position to suspect a stranger of evil intentions. Euro- 
peans, what a lesson is this for us! These savages, whom 
we have pursued with fire and sword, whom our ava- 
rice has not even left in possession of a shovel full of earth 
to cover their dead bodies on all this vast continent hereto- 
fore their patrimony — these very savages received their 
enemy in their hospitable huts, shared with him their mi- 
serable repast, and their couch to which remorse was a 
stranger, enjoying close to him, the sleep of the virtuous. 
Such virtues are as much above our conventional ones, as 
the souls of these uncultivated people are superior to those 
of man in a state of society. 

The moon was bright. Heated by my ideas I rose 
and took a seat at some distance, upon the root of a tree 
which crept along the side of the rivulet. It was one of 
those American nights, which the pencil of man never 
will be able to pourtray, and which I have remembered a 
hundred times with delight. 

The moon had reached the highest point of the Hea- 
vens, and a thousand stars glittered in the great clear ex- 
panse. At one time the queen of night reposed upon a 
L,roup of clouds, which resembled the summit of lofty 
mountains crowned with snow. By slow degrees these 
clouds stretched themselves out, assuming the appearance 
of waving transparent zones of white satin, or transform* 



A NIGHT AMONG THE SAVACES. 143 

ing themselves into light frothy flakes, of which countless 
numbers wandered through the blue plains of the firma- 
ment. At another time the aerial vault appeared as if 
transformed into the sea shore, where horizontal beds, 
and parallel ridges might be discovered, apparently form- 
ed by the regular flux and reflux of the tide. A gust of 
wind then dispersed the clouds, and they formed them- 
selves into large masses of dazzling whiteness, so soft to 
the eye that one almost seemed to feel their delicate elas- 
ticity. The landscape around me was not less enchant- 
ing. The cerulean velvety light of the moon silently 
spread over the forest, and at intervals descended among 
the trees, irradiating in some degree even the deepest 
thickets. The brook, which flowed at my feet, hiding 
itself now and then under the umbrageous oaks, sallows 
and sugar-trees, and re-appearing a little further off, all 
brilliant from the constellations of the night, resembled an 
azure riband studded with diamonds, and transversely 
marked with black lines. On the other side of the stream, 
in a large natural meadow, the clear light of the moon 
shone without motion on the turf, extending like a cur- 
tain over it. At one moment the birch-trees, which were 
scattered here and there through the Savanna, were, by 
the caprice of the breeze, confounded with the soil on 
which they grew, and enveloped in a sort of grey gauze; 
at another they ceased to retain this chalky appearance, 
and buried themselves in obscurity, forming, as it were, 
islands of floating shade upon a motionless sea of light, 
Silence and repose prevailed throughout the scene, ex- 
cept when a few leaves fell here and there, or a sudden 
gust of wind swept past, accompanied occasionally by 
the dismal note of the owl. At a distance and at inter- 
vals too I heard the solemn sound of the cataract at Ni- 
agara, which, in the calmness of night, was lengthened out 
from one desert to another, and expired among the soli 
tary forests. 



144 RECOLLECTIONS OF AMERICA'. 

The astonishing grandeur of this picture and the me- 
lancholy, which it inspired, are not to be expressed by 
human language. The most beautiful nights in Europe 
can convey no idea of it. In vain does the imagination 
try to roam at large amidst our cultivated plains, for 
every where the habitations of mankind oppose its wish ; 
but in this deserted region the soul delights to bury and 
lose itself amidst boundless forests — it loves to wander, 
by the light of the stars, on the borders of immense lakes, 
to hover on the roaring gulph of terrific cataracts, to fall 
with the mighty mass of waters, to mix and confound 
itself, as it were, with the wild sublimities of Nature. 

These enjoyments are too exquisite. Such is our 
weakness that excess of pleasure becomes painful, as if 
nature were afraid of our forgetting that we are men. 
Absorbed in my existence, or rather wandering entirely 
from myself, having no distinct sentiment or idea, but an 
ineffable indescribable sensation, resembling the mental 
happiness which we are told that we shall feel in another 
world, I was suddenly recalled to the one which I inha- 
bit. I felt ill, and was convinced that I must indulge 
my reverie no further. I now returned to our Ajouppa, 
and lying down near the savages, soon sunk into pro- 
found sleep. 

On awaking in the morning, I found my companions 
ready for departure. My guide had saddled our horses ; 
the warriors were armed, and the women busy in collect- 
ing their baggage which consisted of skins, maize, and 
smoaked bear. I arose, and taking from my portman- 
teau some powder and ball, and a box made of red wood, 
distributed these among my associates of the night, who 
appeared to be pleased with my generosity. We then 
separated, not without signs of mutual regard and regret, 
each touching his forehead and breast, according to the 
rustom of these children of nature, which appeared to me 



A NIGHT AMO'ttG THE SAVAGES. 145 

very superior to the ceremonies practised by us. Even 
to the young Indian, who cordially took the hand which I 
offered, we all parted with hearts full of each other. Our 
friends pursued their way to the Nordi, being directed by 
the mosses, and we to the West under the guidance of 
my compass. The warriors departed first, the women 
followed, carrying the baggage and infants on their backs, 
suspended in furs. The little creatures looked back at 
us and smiled. My eyes for a long time followed this 
affecting and maternal spectacle, till at length the group 
entirely disappeared among the thickets. 

Benevolent savages, who so hospitably entertained me, 
and whom I doubtless shall never again behold, let me be 
here permitted to pay the tribute of my gratitude. May 
you long enjoy your precious independence in those de- 
lightful solitudes, where my wishes for your happiness 
will ever follow you. What corner, my friends, of your 
immense deserts, do you at present inhabit ? Are you still 
together, and always happy ? Do you sometimes talk 
about the stranger of the forest? Do you picture to 
yourselves the kind of country which he inhabits ? Do 
you utter wishes for his happiness, while you recline upon 
the banks of your solitary rivers? Generous family! 
His lot is much changed since the night he passed with 
you ; but it is at least a consolation to him, while perse- 
cuted by his countrymen beyond the seas, that his name 
is, in some unknown wilderness at the other extremity of 
the world, still pronounced with tender recollection by 
the poor Indians. 



T 



146 



ANECDOTE 

Of a Frenchman* who dwelt among the Savages* 



PHILIP DE COCQ, who was bom in a little vil- 
lage of Pitou, went to Canada in his infancy, served there 
as a soldier, at the age of twenty years, during the war of 
1754, and after the battle of Quebec retired to the country 
of the Five Nations, where, having married an Indian 
woman, he renounced the customs of his native land to 
adopt the manners of the savages. When I was travel- 
ling through the wilds of America, I was not a little sur- 
prised to hear that I had a countryman established as 
a resident, at some distance in the woods. I visited him 
with eagerness, and found him employed in pointing 
some stakes at the door of his hut. He cast a look to- 
wards me, which was cold enough, and continued his 
work ; but the moment I addressed him in French, he 
started at the recollection of his country, and the big tear 
stood in his eye. These well-known accents suddenly 
roused, in the heart of the old man, all the sensations of 
his infancy. In youth we little regret the pleasures of our 
first years ; but the further we advance into life the more 
interesting to us becomes the recollection of them ; for 
dun every one of our days supplies a sad subject for 
comparison. Philip intreated me to enter his dwelling, 



ANECDOTE. 147 

and I followed him. He had considerable difficulty in 
expressing what he meant. I saw him labour to regain 
the ancient ideas of civilized man, and I watched him 
most closely. For instance, I had an opportunity of ob- 
serving that there were two kinds of relative things abso- 
lutely effaced from his mind, viz. that of any superfluity 
being proper, and that of annoying others without an ab- 
solute necessity for it. I did not chuse to put my grand 
question, till after some hours of conversation had restor- 
ed to him a sufficiency of words and ideas. At last I 
said to him : " Philip, are you happy ?" He knew not 
at first how to reply.—" Happy," said he, reflecting — 
" happy ! Yes ; but happy only since I became a sa- 
vage. — "And how do you pass your life ?" asked I. — 
He laughed. — " I understand you," continued I. " You 
think such a question unworthy of an answer. But 
should you not like to resume your former mode of living, 
and return to your country ?" — " My country ! France! 
If I were not so old, I should like to see it again." — 
" And you would not remain there ?" added I. — The 
motion of Philip's head answered my question sufficient- 
ly. " But what induced you," continued I, " to be- 
come what you call a savage ?" — " I don't know," said 
he, — " instinct." This expression put an end to my 
doubts and questions. I remained two days with Philip, 
in order to observe him, and never saw him swerve for a 
single moment from the assertion he had made. His 
soul, free from the conflict of social passions, appeared to 
me, in the language of the savages with whom he dwelt, 
calm as the field of battle after the warriors had smoked 
together the calumet of peace. 



143 



ON MACKENZIE'S TRAVELS 

In the interior of North America. 



THE general interest, with which travels are read, 
may perhaps be caused by the inconstancy and satiety of 
the human heart. Tired of the society with which we 
live, and of the vexations which surround us, we like 
to lose ourselves in the contemplation of distant countries, 
and among unknown nations. If the people, described 
to us, are happier than ourselves, their happiness diverts 
us ; if more unfortunate, their afflictions are consolatory 
to us. But the interest, attached to the recital of travels, 
is every day diminishing in proportion to the increase of 
travellers. A philosophical spirit has caused the wonders 
of the desert to disappear, 

" The magic woods have lost their former charm/' 

as Fontanes says. 

When the first Frenchman, who investigated the 
shores of Canada, spoke of lakes similar to seas ; cata- 
racts which fall from Heaven, and forests the depth of 
which could not be explored, the mind was much more 
strongly moved than when an English merchant, or a 
modern Savant tells you that he has penetrated to the 



. Mackenzie's travels, 149 

Pacific Ocean, and that the fall cf Niagara is only a hun- 
dred and forty-four feet in depth. 

What we gain in knowledge, by such information, 
we lose in sentiment. Geometrical truths have destroy^ 
ed certain truths of the imagination, which are more im- 
portant to morality than is supposed. Who were the 
first travellers of antiquity ? The legislators, poets, and 
heroes — Jacob, Lycurgus, Pythagoras, Homer, Hercules, 
Alexander. The " dies peregrinationn" are mentioned 
in Genesis. At that time every thing was prodigious 
without ceasing to be real, and the hopes of these exlated 
men burst forth in the exclamation of " Terra ignota I 
Terra imm ensa /"* 

We naturally dislike to be confined wiihin bounds, 
and I could almost say that the globe is become too small 
for man since he has sailed round it. If the night be 
more favourable than the day to inspiration and vast con- 
ceptions, it is because it conceals all limits, and assumes 
the appearance of immensity. The French and English 
travellers seem, like the warriors of those two nations, to 
have shared the empire of the earth and ocean. The 
latter have no one, whom they can oppose to Tavernier. 
Chardin, Parennin, and Charlevoix, nor can they boast 
of any great work like the " Lettres Edifiantes ;" but 
the former, in their turn, possess no Anson, Byron, Cook, 
or Vancouver. The French travellers have done more 
than those of the rival nation towards making us ac- 
quainted with the manners and customs of foreign coun- 
tries — noon egno — mores cognovit ; but the English have 
been more useful as to the progress of universal geogra- 
phy — en ponto pathen,| in marl passus est. They 
share with the Spaniards ancj Portuguese the honour of 

* Oh land unknown, oh land of vast extent ! 
t Odyssey, 



150 RECOLLECTIONS OF AMERICA. 

having added new seas and new continents to the globe., 
and of having fixed the limits of the earth. 

The prodigies of navigation are perhaps those, which 
afford the highest idea of human genius. The reader 
trembles, and is full of admiration when he sees Columbus 
plunging into the solitudes of an unknown ocean, Vasco 
de Gama doubling the cape of Tempests, Magellan em- 
erging from a vast ocean to enter one vaster still, and 
Cook flying from one pole to the other, bounded on all 
sides by the shores of the globe, and unable to find more 
seas for his vessels. 

What a beautiful spectacle does this navigator afford, 
when seeking unknown lands, not to oppress the inhabi* 
tants, but to succour and enlighten them ; bearing to 
poor savages the requisites of life ; swearing, on their 
charming banks, to maintain concord and amity with 
these simple children of nature; sowing among icy 
regions the fruits of a milder climate, and thus imitating 
Providence, who foresaw the fall and the wants of man I 

Death having not permitted Captain Cook to com- 
plete his important discoveries, Captain Vancouver was 
appointed by the British Government to visit all the A- 
merican coast from California to Cook's River or Inlet, 
as it is sometimes called, and to remove all doubts, which 
might yet remain concerning a passage to the North West 
of the New World. While this able officer fulfilled his 
mission with equal intelligence and courage, another Eng- 
lish traveller, taking his departure from Upper Canada, 
proceeded across deserts and through forests to the North 
Sea and Pacific Ocean. 

Mr. Mackenzie, of whose travels I am about to 
speak, neither pretends to the honour of being a'scientific 
man, nor a writer. He was simply carrying on a traffic 
with the Indians in furs, and modestey gives his account 
to the public as only the journal of his expedition. Some. 



Mackenzie's travels* 151 

times, however, he interrupts the thread of his narrative 
fo describe a scene of nature or the manners of the sa- 
vages ; but he never possesses the art of turning to his ad- 
vantage those little occurrences, which are so interesting 
in the recitals of our missionaries. The reader is scarce- 
ly informed who were the companions of the author's fa- 
tigues. No transport is exhibited 'on discovering the 
ocean, which was the wished- for object of his enterprize. 
no scenes of tenderness at his return. In a word, the 
reader is never embarked in the canoe with the traveller, 
and never partakes of his fears, his hopes and his 
perils. 

Another great fault is discoverable in this work. It 
is unfortunate that a simple journal should be deficient in 
method and perspicuity, but Mr. Mackenzie manages 
his subject in a confused way. He never states where 
Fort Chepewyan is, from which he first sets out ; what 
discoveries had been made in the regions he was about to 
visit, before he undertook to explore them ; whether the 
place, at which he stops near the entrance of the Frozen 
Sea, was a bay, or merely an expansion of the river, as 
one is led to suppose. How can the traveller too be cer- 
tain that this great river of the West, which he calls Ta- 
coutche Tesse is the river of Columbia, since he did not 
go down to its mouth ? How happens it that part of the 
course of this river, which he did not visit, is nevertheless 
marked upon his map ? &c. &c. 

In spite of these numerous defects, the merit of Mr. 
Mackenzie's journal is very great, but it requires com- 
mentaries, at one time to give an idea of the deserts which 
the traveller is crossing, and impart a little spirit to the 
meagre dryness of his narrative, at another to explain some 
point of geography left in an obscure state by the author. 
These omissions I will attempt to supply. 



152 RECOLLECTIONS OF AMERICA. 

Spain, England, and France owe all their American 
possessions to three Italians, Columbus, Cabot, and Ve« 
razani. The genius of Italy, buried under its ruins, like 
the giants under the mountains which they had piled upon 
each other, appears now and then to awake, for the pur- 
pose of astonishing the world. It was about the year 
1 523 that France employed Verazani to go in quest of 
new discoveries. This navigator examined more than 
600 leagues of the North American coast, but he found- 
ed no colonies. 

James Cartier, his successor, visited all the country 
called Kanata by the savages, that is to say, the mass of 
huts.* He ascended the great river, which received from 
him the name of St. Lawrence, and advanced as far as the 
island of Montreal, which was then called Hochelaga. 

In 1540 M. de Roberval obtained the viceroyalty of 
Canada. He transported several families thither, with his 
brother, whom Francis I. distinguished by the appella- 
tion of Hannibal* s gen (Parme, on account of his brave- 
ry ; but being shipwrecked in 1540, " with them sunk," 
said Charlevoix, " all the hopes which had been conceiv- 
ed of forming an establishment in America, no one dar- 
ing to flatter himself with the idea of being more skilful or 
fortunate than these two brave men," 

The disturbances, which spon afterwards began in 
JVance, and continued fifty years, prevented the attention 
of government to any events at a distance. The genius 
of Henry IV. having stifled civil discord, the project of 
founding a colony in Canada was resumed with ardour. 
The Marquis de la Roche embarked in 1598 to try his 
fortune again, but his expedition had a disastrous end. M. 
Chauvin succeeded to his projects and misfortunes, and 

* The Spaniards had certainly discovered Canada before James 
Cartier and Veiazani. There arc some who assert that the name 
of Canada is derived from two Spanish words Acca nada. 



Mackenzie's travels. 153 

lastly the Commodore de Catte, being employed on the 
same enterprize about the year 1603, confided the direc- 
tion of it to Samuel de Champelain, whose name brings to 
our recollection the founder of Quebec, and the father of 
French colonies in North America. 

From this time the Jesuits were entrusted with the 
care of continuing the discoveries in the interior of the Ca- 
nadian forests. Then began those famous missions, 
which extended the French Empire from the borders of 
the Atlantic, and the icy region of Hudson's Bay, to the 
shores of the gulph of Mexico. Fatiiers Biart and Ene- 
mond Masse traversed the whole of Nova Scotia ; Father 
Joseph penetrated to Lake Nipiving ; Fathers Brebceux 
and Daniel visited the magnificent deserts of the Hurons, 
between the lake of that name, Lake Michighan, and 
Lake Erie ; while Father de Lamberville caused Lake 
Ontario, and the five cantons of the Iroquois to be known. 
Attracted by the hope of martyrdom, and the recital of 
the sufferings which their companions had endured, other 
labourers in the evangelical vineyard arrived from all parts, 
and spread themselves into every dreary region. " They 
were sent," says the historian of New France, " and they 
went with joy. They accomplished the promise of the 
Saviour of mankind, by making his gospel known 
throughout the world." 

The discovery of the Ohio and the Mississippi in the 
West of Lake Superior, the Lake of the Woods in the 
North West of the River Bourbon, and the interior coast 
of James Bay in the North, was the result of these apos- 
tolic travels. The Missionaries had even a knowledge of 
those Rocky Mountains,* which Mr. Mackenzie crossed 
on his way to the Pacific Ocean, and of the great river 
flowing to the West, that is to say, the Columbia. — If any 

* They called this chain the mountain^ Brilliant Stones. 

U 



154 RECOLLECTIONS OF AMERICA. 

one should wish to convince himself that I advance only 
what is true, it will be sufhcient to cast an eye over the an- 
cient charts of the Jesuits. 

All the great discoveries, therefore, in the interior of 
North America, were made or pointed out when the Eng- 
lish became masters of Canada. By giving new names 
to the lakes, mountains, rivers and streams, or by corrupt- 
ing the old French names, they have only thrown geogra- 
phy into disorder. It is not even sufficiently proved that 
the latitudes and longitudes, which they have given to cer- 
tain places, are more exact than those fixed by our learn- 
ed missionaries.* 

In order to form a correct idea of the point from 
which Mr. Mackenzie took his departure, and of his gene- 
ral course, it is perhaps essential to observe the following 
particulars. 

The French missionaries and the ramblers through 
Canada had pushed their discoveries as far as Lake Oui- 
nipie, or Ouinipigon to the west, and as far as Lake Assi- 
nibouls or Lac des Cristinaux to the North. The first 
of these appears to be the one called by Mr. Mackenzie 
the Slave Lake.f 

The Anglo-Canadian Company, which carries on the 
trade in furs, has established a factory at Fort Chepew- 
yanf or Chepawayan, on a lake called the Lake of the 
Mountains, which communicates with the Slave Lake by 
a river. 

* Mr. Arrowsmith is at present the most celebrated geogra- 
pher in England. If any one wiH take his great map of the Unit- 
ed States, and compare it with Imley's last maps, he will find a 
prodigious difference, particularly in that part which lies between 
the lakes of Canada and Ohio. The charts of the Missionaries, 
on the contrary, much resemble Imley's maps. 

t The French maps place it in latitude 5° N. and the English 
in 53. 

\ 58° 40' lat N. and 10° 30' long. W. meridian of Greenwich. 



MACKENZIE'S TRAVELS, 155 

From the Slave Lake proceeds a river which flows to 
the North, and which Mr. Mackenzie designates by his 
own name. The river Mackenzie falls into the Polar Sea 
at 69° 14' North latitude and 135° west longitude, me- 
ridian of Greenwich. The discovery of this river and its 
navigation to the northern Ocean are the object of Mr. 
Mackenzie's first travels. 

He left Fort Chepewyan on the 3rd of June 1789, 
and returned thither on the 12th of September in the same 
year. He left it a second time on the 1 th of October 
1792 on a new expedition, directing his course to the 
West. He crossed the Lake of the Mountains, and a- 
scended a river called Oungijah, or Peace River, which 
takes its source in the Rocky Mountains. A great river 
descends beyond these mountains, and flows to the west 
where it loses itself in the Pacific Ocean. It is called 
Tacoutche-Tesse or Columbia. 

The passage from Peace River to that of Columbia, 
-and the facility of navigation in the latter, at least to the 
point where Mr. Mackenzie abandoned his canoe, were 
the discoveries which resulted from Mr. Mackenzie's se- 
cond enterprize. After an absence of .eleven months he 
returned to the place of his departure. 

It must be observed that as Peace River proceeds 
from the Rocky Mountains to throw itself into an arm 
of the Lake of the Mountains ; as the Lake of the Moun- 
tains communicates with Slave Lake by a river which 
bears this latter name ; and as Slave Lake, in its turn, 
pours its waters into the Northern Ocean by the river 
Mackenzie, it follows that the Peace, Slave and Macken- 
zie rivers are in fact only one, which proceeds from the 
Rocky Mountains in the west, and precipitates itself into 
the Polar Ocean. Let us now take our departure with 
the traveller, and descend the river Mackenzie in compa- 
ny with him* 



156 RECOLLECTIONS OF AMERICA. 

He crosses the Lake of the Mountains, enters Slave 
River, which brings him to the lake of the same name, 
Coasts along the north bank of the lake, and finally disco- 
vers Mackenzie river. From the lake to this point the 
country on the north side is low and covered with forests \ 
on the South it is more elevated but also very woody. 
We here observe many trees thrown down and blackened 
by fire in the midst of which young poplars appear, hav- 
ing risen there since the conflagration. It is worthy of 
remark that when a forest of firs and birches is consumed 
by fire, poplars appear instead of them, though there was 
previously no tree of this genus in the space laid open by 
the devouring element. 

The naturalist will perhaps contest the accuracy of 
this observation on the part of Mr. Mackenzie ; for in 
Europe every thing, which deranges our systems, is treat- 
ed as ignorance, or the wandering of imagination ; but no 
philosopher can deny and no artist can depict the beauty 
of the streams which water the New World. Let the 
reader represent to himself an immense river, flowing 
through the thickest forests — let him figure to himself all 
the accidental circumstances connected with the trees 
upon its banks. The American oaks, falling from old 
age, bathe their hoary heads in the stream ; the planes of 
the West bend towards the wave with the black squirrels 
and white ermines, which are climbing up their trunks, 
or sporting among their branches ; the Canadian syca- 
mores join in the group ; the Virginian poplars grow in a 
solitary manner, or lengthen themselves out into a mov- 
ing avenue. Sometimes a river rushing from the depths 
of a desert, forms a magnificent junction with another 
river as it crosses some noble forest. At other times a 
roaring cataract covers the side of a mountain with its 
azure veil. The banks seem to fly, to bend, to enlarge, 
t© diminish. Here are towering rocks which overhang 



Mackenzie's travels. 157 

the stream, there groups of young trees, the tops of which 
are flattened like the plain that gave them birth. On all 
sides murmurs are heard, which it would be difficult to 
define. They proceed from frogs which low like bulls* 
and from others which live in the trunks of old willows, f 
The repeated cry of the latter alternately resembles the 
tinkling of a bell such as hangs about the neck of sheep, 
and the barking of a dog. J The traveller, agreeably de- 
ceived in these wild regions, fancies that he is approach- 
ing the cottage of a labourer, and that he hears the distant 
motion of a flock. 

Harmonious warblings swell upon the breeze, and fill 
the woods, as if the Hamadryads joined in universal cho- 
rus ; but the concert soon grows weaker, and gradually 
dies away among the cedars and the rushes, so that you 
can hardly say, at the moment the sounds diminish into 
silence, whether they still exist, or are only continued by 
imagination. 

Mr. Mackenzie, continuing to descend the river, ar- 
rived ere long at the country inhabited by the savages call- 
ed Indian Slaves. They informed him that he would 
find lower down, on the banks of the same stream, another 
tribe called Hare Indians ; and still lower, as he approach- 
ed the sea, the esquimaux. 

" During our short stay with these people, they amus- 
ed us with dancing, which they accompanied with their 
voices. They leap about and throw themselves into va- 
rious antic postures. The women suffer their arms to 
hang, as without the power of motion." 

* Bull-frog. 

f Tree-frog. 

\ " They deposit their young in the stumps of decayed trees. 
They do not croak like the frogs in Europe, but during the night 
bark like dogs." Le Pere du Tertre^ Histoire Natur. des An- 
tilles. Tom. IIIj No. 317. 



158 RECOLLECTIONS OF AMERICA. 

The songs and dances of savages have always some- 
thing in them, which is melancholy or voluptuous. 
u Some play the flute," says the father du Tertre, " others 
sing, and form a kind of music which has to them much 
sweetness." According to Lucretius, attempts were made 
to imitate the singing of birds by the human voice, long 
before poetry, accompanied by the lyre, charmed the ears 
of mankind. 

At liguidas avium voces imitarier ore 
Ante Jinit multo. quam lavia carmina cantu 
Concelebrare homines fios sent, auresque juvare. 

Sometimes you see a poor Indian, whose body is quite 
bent by excessive labour and fatigue, and a hunter, whose 
appearance breathes a spirit of cheerfulness. When they 
dance together, you are struck with an astonishing con- 
trast ; the former becomes at once straight and balances 
himself with unexpected ease ; the latter sings the most 
melancholy airs. The young female appears as if she 
wished to imitate the graceful undulations of the birches 
in her desert, and the youth the plaintive murmurs which 
creep through their branches. 

When these dances take place on the margin of a 
river, and in the recesses of a forest, where unknown 
echoes for the first time repeat the sound of the human 
/oice ; and where the bear of the desert looks from the 
heights of some rock at these pastimes of savage man, we 
cannot but acknowledge that there is something grand in 
the very rudeness of the picture ; we cannot but be af- 
fected when we reflect upon the destiny of this child of 
nature, which is born unknown to the world, dances for 
a moment in the valleys through which it will never pass 
again, and soon reposes in the grave, under the moss of 
these deserts which has not even preserved the impression 
of its footsteps. " Fuissen quasi non esscmS* 



Mackenzie's travels, 159 

Passing under some sterile mountains, the traveller 
steered to land and climbed the steep rocks with one of 
his Indian hunters. Four chains of mountains form the 
grand divisions of North America. 

The first proceeds from Mexico, and is only a pro- 
longation of the Andes, which cross the Isthmus of Pa- 
nama. It stretches from South to North along the great 
South Sea, always inclining towards Cook's Inlet. Mr. 
Mackenzie calls this ridge the Rocky Mountains, and 
passed them between the source of Peace river and the 
river Columbia, where it falls into the Pacific Ocean. 

The second chain begins at the Apalaches, on the 
Eastern borders of the Mississippi, extends to the North- 
East under the name of the Alleganies, the Blue Moun- 
tains, and the Laurel Mountains, passing behind the Flo- 
ridas, Virginia and New England, through the interior 
©f Nova Scotia to the gulph of St. Lawrence. It divides 
the waters which fall into the Atlantic, from those which 
swell the Mississippi, the Ohio, and the lakes of Lower 
Canada. 

It is probable that this chain formerly extended to the 
Atlantic, and served as a barrier to it, in the same way as 
the first ridge still borders on the Indian Ocean. The an- 
cient continent of America, therefore, apparently began at 
these mountains ; for the three different level tracts of 
country, so regularly marked, from the plains of Pennsyl- 
vania to the Savannahs of Florida, indicate that the part 
in question was covered with water, and afterwards left 
bare at different periods. 

Opposite the bank of the gulph of St. Lawrence 
(where, as I have said, the second chain terminates) rises, 
on the East of Labrador, a third ridge almost as long 
as the two former. It extends at first on the South- East 
to the Outaouas, forming the double source of the rivers 
which precipitate themselves into Hudson's Bay, snd 



160 RECOLLECTIONS OF AMERICA. 

those which pay the tribute of their waters to the gulph 
of St. Lawrence ; then turning to the North- West, and 
stretching along the Northern coast of Lake Superior, it 
arrives at Lake St. Anne, where it takes the shape of a 
fork, to the North-West and South- West. 

Its Southern arm passes to the South of great lake 
Oui?iipic y between the marshes which feed the river Al- 
bany to James Bay and the fountains, from which the 
Mississippi receives its floods destined to fall into the 
gulph of Mexico. 

Its Northern arm touches on Swan's lake and the fac- 
tory of Osnaburgh; then crossing the river Severn, 
reaches Port Nelson river, passing to the Nordi of Lake 
Ouinipic. It finally unites with the fourth chain of moun- 
tains. 

This is of less extent than any of the others. It be- 
gins at the borders of the river Saskatchiwine, stretches to 
the North- East between the rivers Erlan and Churchhill, 
then extends Northward to latitude 57, where it is divid- 
ed into two branches, of which the one, continuing its 
Northern direction, reaches the coast of the Frozen Sea ; 
while the other, running to the West, meets with Macken- 
zie river. The eternal snow, with which these mountains 
are crowned, feeds, on the one hand, the rivers which fall 
into Hudson's Bay, and on the other, those which are 
swollowed by the Northern ocean. 

It was one of the mountains of this last chain which 
Mr. Mackenzie wanted to climb with his attendant. 
Those, who have only seen the Alps and Pyrenees, can 
form no idea of these hyperborean Solitudes, these deso- 
late regions where strange animals are wandering on un- 
known mountains, as was the case after the general de- 
luge. Kara per ignotos errant animalia montes" Clouds, 
or rather humid logs, incessantly hung on the summits of 
these dismal elevations. Rocks, which are beaten with 



Mackenzie's travels. 161 

perpetual rains, pierce with their blackened crags through 
the whitish vapour, resembling in their forms and immo- 
bility phantoms, which are gazing at each other in fright- 
ful silence ! 

Between these mountains, deep valiies of granite are 
perceptible, clothed in moss and watered with torrents. 
Stinted firs, of the species called by the English spruce, 
and small ponds of brackish water, far from varying the 
monotony of the scene, augment its uniformity and gloo- 
miness. These regions resound with the extraordinary 
cry of the bird, which inhabits the North. Beautiful 
swans that swim on these wild waters, and clusters of 
respberry bushes growing under the shelter of some rock, 
seem as if sheltered there to console the traveller, and to 
remind him of that Providence, which knows how to 
spread graces and perfumes even through the most deso- 
late country. But it is at the borders of the ocean that the 
scene is beheld in all its horrors. On one side extend vast 
fields of ice, against which break the discoloured waves, 
and no sail is ever beheld upon them ; on the other rises 
a district, mountainous, barren, and calculated to inspire 
the most melancholy ideas. Along the coast nothing is 
to be seen but a sad succession of dreary bays and stormy 
promontories. At night the traveller takes refuge in some 
cieft of a rock, driving from it the sea eagle, that flies 
away with clamorous shrieks All night he listens with 
terror to the roaring of the winds re-echoed in his cavern ? 
and the cracking of the ice upon the shore. Mr. Mac- 
kenzie arrived at the coast of the Frozen Ocean on the 
12th July, 1789, or rather at a bay of ice where he ob- 
served whales, and perceived a flux and reflux of tide. 
He landed on an island, the latitude of which he fixed at 
69° 14' N. This was the boundary of his first expedi- 
tion. The ice, want of provisions, and the depression o 
spirits exhibited by his people, did not allow him to de~ 

X 



162 RECOLLECTIONS OF AMERICA. 

scend as far as the sea, which was doubtless only at a short 
distance from him. For a long time the sun had never 
set to the eye of the traveller, but appeared pale and en- 
larged, as it mournfully moved through the frozen ex- 
panse. 

Miserable they 
Who, here entangled in the gath*ring ice, 
Take their last look of the descending sun ! 
While, full of death, and fierce with tenfold frost, 
The long, long night, incumbent o'er their head, 
Falls horrible. 

Thomson's Winter* 

On quitting the bay to re-ascend the river, and return 
to Fort Chipewz/an, Mr. Mackenzie passed four Indian 
establishments, which appeared to have been recently in- 
habited. 

" We then landed," says the traveller, " upon a 
small round island which possessed somewhat of a sa- 
cred character. On the top of it seemed to be a place of 
sepulture, from the numerous graves which we observed 
there. We found the frame of a small canoe, with vari- 
ous dishes, troughs and other utensils, which had been 
the living property of those who could now use them no 
more, and form the ordinary accompaniments of their last 
abodes." 

Mr. Mackenzie often speaks of the religion of these 
nations, and their veneration for the tomb. The unfor- 
tunate savage blesses God in these icy regions, and de- 
duces from his own misery the hopes of another life, while 
civilized man, in a mild climate and surrounded by all the 
gifts of Providence, denies his Creator. 

Thus we have seen the inhabitants of these countries, 
dancing at the source of the river which our traveller has 
traced, and we now find their tombs near the sea, at the 



Mackenzie's travels. 16S 

mouth of this same river — a striking emblem of the 
course of our years, from the fountains of joy in which we 
are plunged during infancy, to the ocean of eternity which 
swallows us. These Indian cemeteries, scattered among 
the American forests, are in fact glades, or small inclo- 
sures cleared of the wood that grew upon them. The 
scite of them is entirely covered with mounds of a coni- 
cal form ; while carcases of buffaloes and elks, buried 
among the herbage, are here and there intermingled with 
human skeletons. I have sometimes seen in these places 
a solitary pelican, perched upon the whitened moss- cover - 
ed bones, resembling, in its silence and pensive attitude, 
some old savage, weeping and meditating over the remains 
of his fellow creatures. The people, who carry on a com- 
merce in furs, avail themselves of the land thus half clear- 
ed by death, to sow there, as they pass, different sorts of 
grain. The traveller all at once finds these colonies of 
European vegetables, with their foreign air, their foreign 
dress, and their domestic habits, in the midst of those 
wild plants which are natives of this distant climate. They 
often emigrate over the hills, and extend through the 
woods, according to the inclinations which they brought 
from their indigenous soil. It was thus that exiled farnL 
lies preferred, in the desert, those situations which recal 
led the idea of their country. 

On the 12th of September, 1789, after an absence oi 
a hundred and two days, Mr. Mackenzie again arrived 
at Fort Chipewyan. — Three years after his first undertak- 
ing, he left this Fort a second time, crossed the Lake of 
the Hills, and reached Peace River. He pursued his 
way upon this stream for twenty days, and arrived on the 
first of September 1792 at a place, where he proposed to 
build a house and pass the winter. He employed all 
the cold season in carrying on a commerce with the Indi- 
ans, and making preparations for his expedition. 



164 RECOLLECTIONS OF AMERICA* 

l€ On the 20th of April the river was yet covered 
with ice, the plains were delightful, the trees were bud- 
ding and many plants in blossom." 

That, which is called in North America the great 
thaw, affords to the eye of the European a spectacle not 
less magnificent than extraordinary. During the first 
fortnight of April, the clouds, which till then came rapid- 
ly from the North -West, gradually cease their course in 
the Heavens, and float for some time, as if uncertain 
what direction to take. The colonist leaves his hut, and 
goes over his cultivated land to examine the desert. Sud- 
denly he exclaims : " There comes the South- East 
breeze !" At this instant a luke-warm air is felt playing 
on tjie hands and face, while the clouds begin to return 
slowly towards the North. Every thing in the valley 
and woods undergoes a complete change. The mossy 
point of the rocks first display themselves, amidst the uni- 
form whiteness of hoar frost ; then appear the firs ; and 
among them forward shrubs, which are now hung with 
festoons of flowers, instead of the frozen chrystals of late 
pendent from their branches. Nature gradually opens 
her veil of snow as the sun approaches. The American 
poets will, perhaps at some future day, compare her to a 
bride, who takes off her virgin robe timidly and as if with 
regret, half revealing and yet trying to conceal her charms 
from her husband. 

It is then that the savages, whose deserts Mr. Mac- 
kenzie was exploring, joyfully issue from their caverns. 
Like the birds of their climate, winter collects them to- 
gether, and spring disperses them. Every couple returns 
to its solitary wood, to build a new nest, and sing of re- 
novated love. 

This season, which puts all in motion through the 
/Vmcrican forests, gave our traveller the signal of departure. 
On Thursday the 9th of May, 1793, Mr. Mackenzie set 



MACKENZIE'S TRAVELS, 165 

out with six Canadians and two Indian hunters, in a canoe 
made of bark. If he could, from the borders of the 
Peace River, have seen what was passing in Europe at 
that time, in a great civilized nation, the hut of the Esqui- 
maux would have appeared, in his estimation, preferable 
to the palaces of kings, and solitude to a commerce with 
mankind. 

The French translator of Mr. Mackenzie's travels ob-^ 
serves that the companions of the English merchant were» 
with one exception, all of French origin. The French 
easily accustom themselves to savage life, and are much be- 
loved by the Indians. When Canada fell into the hands of the 
English in 1729, the natives soon perceived the difference. 
" The English," says Father Charlevoix, " during the 
short time that they were masters of the country, did not 
succeed in gaining the affections of the Indians. The 
Hurons never appeared at Quebec. Other tribes which 
were nearer to this city, and several of which had, from 
taking individual offence at different matters, openly de- 
clared against us, at the approach of the English squadron, 
likewise shewed themselves but rarefy. They had all 
been not a little disconcerted at finding that when they 
wished to take the same liberties with the new comers, 
which the French had without any difficulty allowed, 
their manners had not pleased. It was still worse in a 
short time, when they were driven with blows out of the 
houses, which they had hitherto entered with the same 
freedom as their own huts. They resolved, therefore, 
to withdraw ; and nothing so much attached them to 
our interest afterwards, as this difference of manners and 
character in the two nations which had established them- 
selves there. The missionaries, who were soon aware 
of the impression made upon the Indians, availed them- 
selves of it to convert these savages to the Christian faith, 
vid attach them to the French nation/ * The French never 



166 HEC0LLECTI0NS OF AMERICA. 

attempt to civilize them, for that would cost too much 
trouble ; they like better to become savages themselves. 
The forest can boast of no hunters who are more adroit ? 
no warriors who are more intrepid. They have been seen 
to endure the infliction of torture with a degree of firm- 
ness that astonished even the Iroquois, and unfortunately 
they have been also seen to become as barbarous as their tor- 
turers. Is it that the extremes of a circle meet, and that 
the highest degree of civilization, being the perfection of 
the art, touches closely upon nature ? Or rather, is it not 
a sort of universal talent and pliability of manners, that 
adapt the Frenchman to every climate and to every sphere 
of life? Be this as it may, he and the American Indian 
possess the same bravery, the same indifference as to life, 
the same improvidence as to what will happen to-morrow, 
the same dislike to work, the same inclination to be 
tired of the good things which they possess, the same 
inconstancy in love, the same taste for dancing and for 
war, the fatigues of the chace and the pleasures of the 
feast. These similarities of disposition in the Frenchman 
and Indian cause in them a great inclination towards each 
other, and easily convert the inhabitant of Paris into the 
rambler of the Canadian woods. 

Mr. Mackenzie re-ascended the Peace River with his 
French savages, and thus describes the beauty of nature 
around him. 

u From the place which we quitted this morning, the 
West side of the river displayed a succession of the most 
beautiful scenery I had ever beheld. The ground rises 
at intervals to a considerable height, and stretching in- 
wards to a considerable distance, at every interval or pause 
in the river, there is a very gentle ascending space or lawn, 
which is alternate with abrupt precipices to the summit 
of the whole, or at least as far as the eye could distinguish. 
This magnificent theatre of nature has all the decora 



Mackenzie's travels. 167 

tions which the trees and animals of the country can afford 
it. Groves of poplars, in ever)' shape, vary the scene, 
and their intervals are enlivened with vast herds of elks 
and buffaloes ; the former choosing the steeps and up- 
lands, the latter preferring the plains. At this time the 
buffaloes were attended with their young ones, who were 
frisking about them, and it appeared that the elk would 
soon exhibit the same enlivening circumstance. The 
whole country displayed an exuberant verdure. The 
trees, that bear a blossom, were advancing fast to that 
delightful appearance, and the velvet rind of their branches, 
reflecting the oblique rays of a rising or setting sun, add- 
ed a splendid gaiety to the scene, which no expressions 
of mine are qualified to describe." 

These amphitheatrical spectacles are common in A- 
merica* Not far from Apalachucla^ in the Floridas, tjie 
land gradually rises on leaving the river Chatakc/ie, and 
towers into the air as it verges to the horizon ; but it is 
not an ordinary inclination, like that of a valley ; it is by 
natural terraces ranged one above another, like the arti- 
ficial gardens of some mighty potentate. These terraces 
are planted with different trees, and watered by a multi- 
tude of fountains, the streams of which, exposed to the 
rising sun, sparkle amidst the verdure or flow with gol- 
den lustre past the mossy rocks. Blocks of granite sui - 
mount this vast structure, and are themselves topped by 
lofty pines. When you discover this superb chain of 
terraces from the margin of the river, and the summit of 
the rocks which crown them enveloped in clouds, you 
think that you are beholding the columns of Nature's 
temple, and the magnificent steps which lead to it. 

The traveller reached the Rocky Mountains, and 
began to wind among them. Obstacles and dangers in- 
creased on all sides. Here his people were obliged to 



168 RECOLLECTIONS OF AMERICA. 

carry the baggage by land, in order to avoid the cataracts 
and rapids ; there they found it necessary to resist the im- 
petuosity of the current by laboriously drawing the canoe 
with a cord. Mr. Mackenzie's whole passage through 
these mountains is very interesting. At one time he is 
compelled to hew down trees and cut his way into the 
forest ; at another he leaps from rock to rock at the risk of 
his life, and receives his companions, one after another, 
upon his shoulders. The cord breaks — the canoe strikes 
upon the shelves — the Canadians are discouraged, and 
refuse to go any further. It is in vain that Mr. Mac* 
kenzie wanders in the desert for the purpose of discover- 
ing the passage to the river in the West. Some reports 
of fire arms, which he hears in this desolate region, alarm 
him with the supposition that hostile savages approach. 
He climbs up a high tree, but can discern nothing except 
mountains covered with snow, in the midst of which are 
some stinted birches, and below, woods extending appa- 
rently ad infinitum. 

Nothing is so dreary as the appearance of these woods, 
when surveyed from the summits of mountains in the 
New World. The valleys, which you have traversed, 
and which you command on all sides, appear in regular 
undulations beneath you, like the billows of the ocean af- 
ter a storm. They seem to diminish in size according 
to the distance, at which you gradually leave them. 
Those that are nearest to you are of a reddish green tint, 
the next are slightly coloured with azure, and the rc^ 
motest form parallel belts of sky blue. 

Mr. Mackenzie descended from his tree and endea- 
voured to find his companions. He no longer saw the 
canoe at the bank of the river. He fired his gun, but 
no answer was given to his signal. He went first one 
way and then another, alternately walking up and down 
the side of the river. At length he found his friends, but 



Mackenzie's travels. 169 

not till after he had passed four and- twenty hours in ex- 
cessive anxiety and uneasiness. Soon afterwards he 
met some savages. When interrogated by the traveller, 
they pretended at first to be ignorant of any river in the 
West, but an old man was induced, by the caresses and 
presents of Mr. Mackenzie, to become, at length, more 
communicative. " He knew," observes Mr. M. " of a 
large river that runs towards the mid- day sun, a branch 
of which flowed near the source of that which we were 
now navigating, and said that there were only three small 
lakes, and as many carrying places, leading to a small 
river which discharges itself into the great one." 

The reader may imagine what were Mr. Mackenzie's 
transports on hearing this happy intelligence. He hasten - 
ed to embark, accompanied by an Indian, who under - 
took to act as his guide to the unknown stream. He soon 
quitted the Peace River, and entered another of a more 
contracted width, which proceeded from a neighbouring 
lake. He crossed this lake, and proceeded from one 
lake to another, from one river to another, till, after being 
wrecked and encountering various other accidents, he 
found himself, on the 18th of June, 1793, upon the Ta- 
coutche Tesse, or Columbia, which falls into the Pa- 
cific Ocean. 

Between two chains of mountains lay a grand valley, 
shaded by forests of poplars, cedars, and birches. Under 
these forests the traveller descried columns of smoke, an- 
nouncing to him the dwellings of the invincible savages 
who inhabit this region. The red and white clay, here 
and there, on the steep sides of the mountains, conveyed 
the idea of ancient ruins. The river Columbia pursues 
its winding course through these beautiful retreats, and op 
the numerous islands, which divide its stream, large huts 
were seen, half concealed among the groves of pines, 
«*he*e the natives pass their summers, 

Y 



±tO RECOLLECTIONS OF AMERICA., 

Some savages having made their appearance upon the 
bank, the traveller approached them, and succeeded in 
obtaining from them valuable information. 

" According to their account, this river, whose course 
is very extensive, runs toward the mid- day sun ; and at 
its mouth, as they had been informed, white people were 
building houses. They represented its current to be uni- 
formly strong, and that in three places it was altogether im- 
passable, from the falls and rapids which poured along be- 
tween perpendicular rocks that were much higher and 
more rugged than any we had yet seen, and would not ad- 
mit of any passage over them. But besides the difficult 
ties and dangers of the navigation, they added, that we 
should have to encounter the inhabitants of the country, 
who were very numerous." 

This account threw Mr. Mackenzie into great per- 
plexity, and again discouraged his companions. He con- 
cealed his uneasiness, however, as well as he could, and 
for some time still followed the course of the waters. He 
met with other natives, who confirmed the report he had 
previously received, but who told him that if he chose to 
quit the river, and proceed directly to the West, he would 
arrive at the sea in a few days by a very easy road, which 
was well known to the savages. 

Mr. Mackenzie immediately determined to act upon 
this suggestion. He re- ascended the river till he reached 
the mouth of a small stream that had been pointed out to 
him, and leaving his canoe there, penetrated into the woods, 
on the faith of an Indian who acted as his guide, and who, 
on taking the slightest offence, might deliver him to hos- 
tile hordes, or abandon him in the midst of the deserts. 

Each Canadian carried on his shoulders a package 
weighing ninety pounds, exclusive of his gun and ammu- 
nition, the last of which was in no great quantity. Mr. 
Mackenzie himself carried, in addition to his arms and te 



Mackenzie's travels. ITl 

kscope, a load of provisions and trinkets weighing seventy 
pounds. 

The necessity of enduring what they had undertaken, 
fatigue, and an indescribable sensation of confidence, 
which is acquired by being accustomed to dangers, soon 
removed all uneasiness from the minds of our travellers. 
After a long day's journey through thickets, after being 
at one time exposed to a scorching sun, and at another 
drenched with heavy rains, they quietly fell asleep at night 
to the sound of the Indian's song. 

Mr. Mackenzie describes this song as consisting of 
soft melancholy sounds, tolerably melodious, and in some 
degree resembling church music. When a traveller 
awakes under a tree at midnight, in the deserts of Ameri- 
ca, and hears the distant concert of some savages, inter- 
rupted at intervals by long pauses and the murmur of the 
wind through the forest, nothing can impart to him a more 
perfect idea of that aerial music mentioned by Ossian, 
which departed bards cause to be heard by moonlight 
on the summit of Slimora. Our travellers now arrived 
at districts inhabited by Indian tribes, whose manners 
Mr. Mackenzie describes in a manner that much affects 
the feelings of the reader. He saw a woman, who was 
almost blind, and much oppressed by age, carried alter- 
nately by her own parents, because her infirmities would 
not allow her to walk. On another occasion, a young 
woman, with her child, presented to him a vessel full of 
water, at the passage of a river, as Rebecca filled her pitch- 
er for the servant of Abraham at the wells of Nahor, and 
said to him : " Drink, and I will draw water for thy ca- 
mels also." 

I myself was once among an Indian tribe, where seve- 
ral of them wept at seeing a traveller, because it reminded 
them of friends, who were gone to the Land of Souls, and 
had set out long ago upon their Travels. . 



172 RECOLLECTIONS OF AMERICA. 

Every thing is important to the tourist of the desert. 
The print of a man's foot, recently made, in some wild 
spot is more interesting to him than the vestiges of anti- 
quity in the plains of Greece. Led by the indications of 
a neighbouring population, Mr. Mackenzie passed 
through the village of a hospitable people, where every 
hut is accompanied by a tomb. Leaving this place, he 
arrived at the Salmon River, which discharges itself into 
the Pacific Ocean. A numerous tribe more polished, 
better clad, and better accommodated as to their dwel- 
lings, received him with cordiality. An old man forced 
his way through the crowd, and clasped him in his arms. 
A banquet was prepared to welcome him, and he was 
supplied with provisions in abundance. A youth took a 
mantle from his own shoulders, and placed it on those of 
Mr. Mackenzie. It is almost like a scene in Homer. Mr. 
Mackenzie passed several days among this tribe. He ex- 
amined the cemetery, which was only a great wood of ce- 
dars, where the dead w r ere burnt and which constituted a 
temple for the celebration of two annual festivals, the one 
in spring and the other in autumn. When he walked 
through the village, sick people were brought to him that 
he might cure them, an affecting trait of simplicity on the 
part of a people, among whom man is still dear to man, 
and who perceive only one advantage in superior know- 
ledge — that of relieving the unfortunate. 

The chief of the nation finally appointed his own son 
to accompany Mr. Mackenzie to the sea in a canoe made 
of cedar, which he presented to the traveller. This chief 
informed Mr. Mackenzie that ten winters previous to the 
time at which he spoke, while embarked in the same 
canoe, with forty Indians, he found on the coast two 
vessels full o f white men. It was the good Tooler*? 

• nptain Cotfk 



Mackenzie's travels. 173 

whose memory will be long dear to the people dwelling 
oo the borders of the Pacific Ocean. 

On Saturday, the 20th July, 1793, at eight o'clock in 
the morning, Mr. Mackenzie left the Salmon River, and 
entered into the arm of the sea, where this river dischar 
ges itself from several mouths. It would be useless to 
follow him in his navigation of this bay, where he eon 
stantly found traces of captain Vancouver. He observed 
the latitude at 52° 21' 33", and says; " I now mixed up 
some vermilion in melted grease, and inscribed, in large 
characters, on the South East face of the rock, on whicl- 
we had slept last night, this brief memorial — Alexander 
Mackenzie, from Canada, by land, twenty second of July, 
one thousand, seven hundred and ninety three." 

The discoveries of this traveller supply us with two 
•peat results, the one important to commerce, the other 
to geography. It is thus that England, by the various 
researches of her enterprizing inhabitants, sees before her 
new sources of wealth, and a new road to her establish* 
ments in the Indies and China. 

As to the progress in geography, which in fact tend* 
also to the advantage of commerce, Mr. Mackenzie 7 *, 
expedition to the West is less important than the one to the 
North. Captain Vancouver had sufficiently proved that 
there is no passage on the western coast of America, from 
Nootka sound to Cook's River. Thanks to the labours 
of Mr. Mackenzie, but little remains to be done in the 
North. The extremity of Refus Bay is situated about 
68° lat. N. and 85° long. W. meridian of Greenwich. 
In 1771 Mr. Hearne, who went from Hudson's Bay, 
saw the sea at the mouth of the river of the Cuivre Mines, 
nearly at 69° lat, and 110° long. There are then only 
five or six degrees of longitude between the sea observed 
by Mr. Hearne, and the sea at the extremity of Hudson's 
Bav 



174 RECOLLECTIONS OP AMERICA. 

In a latitude so elevated, the degrees of longitude are 
very minute. Suppose them to be a dozen leagues 
each, and there remain hardly more than seventy-two 
leagues to be discovered between the two points men- 
tioned. 

In 135° long, at the West of the mouth, by which 
the river of the Cuivre Mines discharges itself, Mr. Mac- 
kenzie discovered the sea at 69° 7 lat. N. By follow- 
ing our first calculation, therefore, we shall have no more 
than sixty leagues of unknown coast between the sea ob* 
served by Mr. Hearne and that by Mr. Mackenzie. 

Continuing towards the West, we find Behring's 
strait. Captain Cook advanced beyond this strait to 
69° or 70° lat. N. and 141° long. W. a distance of se- 
venty-two leagues, so that there are no more than 6° of 
longitude between the Northern Ocean of Cook and that 
of Mackenzie. 

Here then is a chain of established points at which the 
sea has been perceived round the Pole on the northern 
coast of America, from the extremity of Behring's Strait 
to the extremity of Hudson's Bay. It remains only to 
travel by land through the three intervals, which divide 
these points, and which cannot together extend beyond 
two hundred and fifty leagues. We shall then ascertain 
that the continent of America is bounded on every side 
by the ocean, and that there is, at its northern extre- 
mity, a sea which is perhaps accessible to vessels. 

May I be allowed to make one remark ? Mr. Mac- 
kenzie has effected, for the advantage of England, what I 
undertook and proposed to the French government. My 
project will, at all events, no longer seem chimerical. 
While others were in search of fortune and repose, I soli- 
cited the honour of bearing the French name into un- 
known seas, at the peril of my life ; of founding for my 
country a colony upon the Pacific Ocean, of wresting the 



MACKENZIE'S TRAVELS* 175 

profits, attendant on a wealthy branch of commerce, from 
her rival ; and of preventing that rival's use of any new 
roads to the Indies. 

In giving an account of Mr. Mackenzie's travels, I 
have been justified in mingling my own observations 
with his, because the design of both was the same, 
and because, at the moment that he was employed on 
his first expedition, I was also wandering through the 
forests of America. But he was supported in his under- 
taking ; he left behind him happy friends and a tranquil 
:ountrv. I was not so fortunate. 



ESSAYS 



ON 



VARIOUS SUBJECTS 



Itf 



LITERATURE % MORALS, 



ESSAYS 

ON 

VARIOUS SUBJECTS 

IN 

LITERATURE <3f MORALS 



LETTER TO M. DE FONTANES 

UPON MADAME DE STAEL-HOLSTEIN's SYSTEM OF 

MORALS. 

I WAITED with impatience, my dear friend, for 
the second edition of Madame de StaeTs work, on litera- 
ture. As she had promised to answer your criticisms I 
was curious to know what a woman of her talents would 
say in defence of perfectibility. As soon as her work 
reached my solitude, I hastened to read the preface and 
notes ; but I saw that not one of your objections was re- 
moved, she had only endeavoured to explain the word 
upon which the whole system is founded. Alas! it 
would be very gratifying to believe that we are from age 
to age advancing progressively towards perfection, ^nd 
that the son is always better than the father. If any thing 
could prove this excellence in the human character it 



130 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS. 

would be to see that Madame de Stael has found the prin- 
ciple of this illusion in her own heart. Yet I cannot help 
always entertaining apprehensions that this lady who so 
often laments over mankind, in boasting of their perfecti- 
bility is like those priests who do not believe in the idol 
to whom they offer incense at the altars. 

I will say also my dear friend, that it seems to me al- 
together unworthy a woman of the authors merit to have 
sought, by way of answer to you, to raise doubts with re- 
spect to your political opinions. What concern have 
these pretended opinions with a dispute purely literary ? — 
Might one not justly retort her own argument upon Ma- 
dame de Stael and say that she has very much the air of 
not loving the present government and regretting the days 
of greater liberty ? Madame de Stael was too much 
above these means to have made use of them ; she ought 
to have left them to those who, in a spirit of philanthropy, 
prepare the road to Cayenne for certain authors if ever 
the good times should return. 

Now then, my dear friend, I must tell you my mode 
of thinking upon this new course of literature. But in 
combating the system I shall perhaps appear to you as lta 
tie reasonable as my adversary. You are not ignorant 
that my passion is to see Jesus Christ every where, as 
Madame de Stael's is to see perfectibility. I have the 
misfortune of believing, with Pascal, that the christian re- 
ligion alone can explain the problem of man. You see 
that I begin by sheltering myself under a great name, in 
order that you may spare my contracted ideas, and my 
anti-philosophic superstitions. For the rest, I find my- 
self emboldened, in thinking with what indulgence you 
have already announced my work. But when will this 
work appear ? — It has even now been two years in the 
pi ess — for two years the printer has been indefatigable in 
creating delays, and I have been no less indefatigable in 



SYSTEM OF MAD. DE STAEL. 1S1 

correcting the work. What I am going to say in this let- 
t r will then be taken almost entirely from my future work 
on the Genius of Christianity \ or on the Moral and Poeti- 
cal Beauties of the Christian Religion. It will be amus- 
ing to you to see how two 'minds, setting out from two 
opposite points, have sometimes arrived at the same re- 
sults. Madame de Stael gives to philosophy what I as- 
cribe to religion. 

To begin with ancient Literature. I agree perfectly 
with the ingenious author whom you have refuted, that 
cur theatre is superior to the theatre cf the ancients ; I see 
yet more clearly that this superiority arises from a more 
profound study of the human heart. But to what do we 
ewe this knowledge of the passions ? — to Christianity en- 
tirely, in no way to philosophy. You smile, my friend, 
listen to me. If there existed in the world a religion, 
the essential qualities of which were to plant a barrier 
against the passions of men, it would necessarily augment 
the play of the passions in the Drama and the Epopcea ; 
it would be by its very nature much more favourable to 
the developement of character than any other religious 
institution, \vTiich, not mingling itself with the affections 
of the soul, would only act upon us by external scenes. 
Now the Christian Religion has this advantage over the 
religions of antiquity ; 'tis a celestial wind which swells 
the sails of virtue, and multiplies the storms of conscience 
around vice. 

All the bases of vice and of virtue are changed among 
men, at least among Christians, since the preaching of the 
Gospel. Among the ancients, for example, humility was 
considered as baseness, and pride as a noble quality. 
Among us the reverse is the case ; pride is the first of 
vices and humility the first of virtues. This transmutation 
of principles alone makes a change in the entire system of 
morals. It is not difficult to perceive that Christianity is 



182 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS. 

in the right, — that Christianity alone rests upon the funda- 
mental truths of nature. Eut it results from thence that 
we ought to discover in the passions, things which the 
ancients did not see, yet that these new views of the hu- 
man heart, cannot justly be attributed to a growing per- 
fection in the genius of man. 

To us the root of all evil is vanity ; the root of all 
good charity ; thus vicious passions are always a compo- 
sition of pride, virtuous ones are a composition of love. 
Setting out with these extreme terms, there are no medi- 
um terms that cannot easily be found in the scale of our 
passions. Christianity has carried morality to such a 
length, that it has, as it were, subjected the emotions of the 
soul to mathematical rules. 

I shall not enter here, my dear friend, into an investi- 
gation of dramatic characters, such as those of father, of 
husband, &c. Sec. — neither shall I treat of each sentiment 
separately ; all this you will see in my work. I shall on- 
ly observe with respect to friendship, in thinking of you, 
that Christianity foas developed its charms most eminently, 
because the one, like the other, consists altogether of con- 
trasts. In order for two men to be perfect friends, they 
ought incessantly to attract and repel each other by some 
place ; they ought to possess equal powers of genius, but 
directed to different objects ; opposite opinions, similar 
principles ; different loves and hatreds, but the same fund 
of sensibility ; humours that cross each other, but tastes 
that assimilate ; in one word, great contrast of character, 
with great harmony of soul. 

In treating the subject of love, Madame de Stael has 
entered upon a commentary on the story of Phaedra. 
Her observations are acute, and we see by the lesson of 
the scoliast that she perfectly understands her text. But 
if it be only in modern times that this passion has been 
formed from a combination of the soul and the senses, 



SYSTEM OF MAD.' DE STAEL. 133 

and we have seen that species of love of which friendship 
forms the moral basis, is it not to Christianity that we are 
indebted for this sentiment being brought to perfection ? — 
is it not this mild religion which, tending continually to 
purify the heart, has carried spirituality even into these 
inclinations which appear the least susceptible of it ?-— 
how much has it redoubled their energy by crossing them 
in the heart of man. Christianity alone has given rise to 
terrible combats between the flesh and the spirit which 
are so favourable to grand dramatic effects. See in He- 
loise the most impetuous of passions struggling against 
a menacing religion. Heloise loves, Heloise burns, but 
religion raises up walls of ice to check the raging fever ; 
there, every warmer feeling is extinguished under insen- 
sible marble ; there, eternal chastisements or rewards at- 
tend her fall or her triumph. Dido only loses an ungrate- 
ful lover ; Heloise, alas ! endures far other torments ; she 
must choose between a faithful lover and her God ; nor 
must she hope that the least particle of her heart can be 
secretly devoted to the service of her Abelard. The God 
whom she serves is a jealous God ; a God who must be pre- 
ferred before every other object ; a God who punishes the 
very shadow of a thought, a mere dream alone addres- 
sed to any other than himself. 

For the rest, we cannot but feel that these cloisters, 
these vaults, these austere manners, contrasted with un- 
fortunate love, must at once increase its power and its 
sorrows. I lament exceedingly that Madame de Stael 
has not developed the system of the passions religiously. 
Perfectibility was not, at least according to my opinion, the 
instrument which ought to have been employed to measure 
weakness ; I would rather have appealed to the very er- 
rors of my life. Obliged to give the history of dreams, I 
would have interrogated my dreams, and if I had found 
*hat our passions are really more refined than the passior c 



184 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS. 

of the ancients I should only have concluded that the il- 
lusion we are under is more complete. 

If the time and place permitted, my dear friend, I 
should have many other remarks to make on ancient li- 
terature ; I should take the liberty of combating many of 
Madame de StaeTs literary opinions. I must, however, 
observe, that I cannot agree with her respecting the me- 
taphysics of the ancients ; their dialect was more verbose 
and less impressive than ours, but in metaphysics they 
knew quite as much as we do. Has mankind advanced 
a single step in the moral sciences ? — No ; it has advanc- 
ed only in the physical ones ; nay, how easy would it be 
to dispute even the principles of our sciences. Certainly 
Aristotle with his ten categories, which included all the 
powers of thought, knew as much as Boyle or Condillac 
with their idealism. But we might pass eternally from 
one system to another in these matters ; in metaphysics 
all is doubt, obscurity, and uncertainty. The reputation 
and the influence of Locke are already declining in Eng- 
land ; his doctrine, which goes to proving very clearly 
that there are no such things as innate ideas, is nothing 
less than certain, since it cannot stand against mathema- 
tical truths, which could never have passed into the soul 
through the medium of the senses. Is it smell, taste, 
feeling, hearing, seeing, which could demonstrate to Py- 
thagoras that in a rectangular triangle the square of the 
hypotenuse is equal to the sum of the squares made on 
the other two sides. All the arithmeticians, and all the 
geometricians will tell Madame de Stael, that the num- 
bers and the relations of the three dimensions of matter 
are pure abstractions of the thought, and that the senses, 
far from having any concern in this kind of knowledge, 
are its greatest enemies* Besides mathematical truths, if 
I dare say it, are innate in us lor this v( j ry reason, that they 
arc eternal, unalterable. If then these truths be eternal, 
they can only be emanations from a fountain of truth 



SYSTEM OF MAD, DE STAEL, 185 

which exists somewhere ; and this fountain of truth can 
only be God. The idea of God is then in its turn, an in- 
nate idea in the human mind ; and our soul which con- 
tains these eternal truths must be an immortal essence. 

Observe, my dear friend, this connection of things, 
and then judge how very little Madame de Stael has ex- 
amined into the depths of her argument. I shall be con- 
strained here, in spite of myself, to pass a very severe 
judgment. This lady, anxious to invent a system, and 
imagining she perceived that Rousseau had reflected more 
profoundly than Plato, and Seneca more than Livy> 
thought she was in possession of all the clues to the soul, 
and to the principle of intelligence. But pedantic spirits^ 
like myself, are not at all satisfied with this precipitate 
march ; they would have had her dive deeper into the sub- 
ject, not have been so superficial. They would have had 
her, in a book that treats of the most important subject in 
the world, the faculty of thought in man, given way less 
to imagination, to a taste for sophism, to the versatile and 
changeable fancy of the woman. 

You know with what we religious people are charged 
by the philosophers ;~they say that we have not very 
strong heads, and shrug their shoulders with pity when 
we talk to them of the moral sentiment; they ask what 
all this proves ? — Indeed I must own to my confusion, that 
I cannot tell that myself, for I have never sought to de- 
monstrate my heart to myself, I have left that task to my 
friends. Do not take any unfair advantage of this con- 
fession, and betray me to philosophy. I must have the 
sir of understanding myself, even though I do not in re~ 
ality understand myself at all I have been told in my 
retreat that this manner would succeed ; but it is very 
singular that ail those who overwhelm us with this 
contempt for our want of argumentation , and who 
reg&rfl our miserable ideas as things habituated to the 

A a 



186 ESSAY* ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS* 

house,* themselves forget the very foundation of things on 
which they treat. Thus we are obliged to do violence to 
ourselves, and to think, at the hazard of our lives, in con- 
tradiction to our religious dispositions, in order to bring 
back to the recollection of these thinkers, what they ought 
to have thought. 

Is it not altogether incredible that in speaking of the 
degradation of the Roman emperors, Madame de Stae'l 
has neglected to point out the influence that growing 
Christianity had upon the minds of men. She has the 
air of never recollecting the religion which changed tke 
face of the world, till she comes to the moment when the 
inroads of the barbarians commenced. But long before 
this epoch the cries of justice and liberty had resounded 
through the empire of the Csesars. And who was it that 
had uttered these cries ? — The Christians. Fatal blind- 
ness of systems ! Madame de Stael applies the epithet of 
the madness of martyrdom to acts which her generous 
heart, on other occasions, would have extolled with trans- 
port. I speak here of young virgins who preferred death 
to the caresses of tyrants, of men refusing to sacrifice to 
idols, and sealing with their blood, before the eyes of the 
astonished world, the dogmas of the unity of God and 
the immortality of the soul. Here is, in my opinion, true 
philosophy. 

What must have been the astonishment of the human 
race when in the midst of the most shameful superstitions 
when every thing, as Bossuet says, was God except God 
himself—- -how much must the world have been astonish- 
ed at such a time on a sudden to hear from Tertullian 
the following abstract of the Christian Faith : " The God 
whom we adore is one only God who created the Uni~ 
verse with the Elements, the bodies, and the minds of 
which it is composed ; — who by his word, his reason and 

* A phrase used by Madame de Stael in her new Preface 



SYSTEM OF MAD. DE STAEL. 187 

his Almighty power called out of nothing a world to be 
the ornament of his greatness. — He is invisible, although 
he is every where to be seen, impalpable, although we 
form to ourselves representations of him, incomprehensi- 
ble, although obvious to all the lights of reason.— Noth- 
ing can make us so well comprehend the supreme Being, 
as the impossibility of conceiving him ; his immensity at 
the same time conceals him, and discloses him to the eyes 
of mankind."* 

And when the same apologist dared alone speak Ac 
language of freedom amid the silence of the rest of the 
world, was not this philosophy. Who would not have 
thought that he heard the first Brutus roused from the 
tomb, menacing the throne of Tiberius when listening to 
these fiery accents which shook the porticoes whither en- 
slaved Rome came to breathe her sighs. "lam not the 
slave of the emperor ; I have only one master, the all- 
powerful and eternal God who is also the master of Cae- 
sar, f It is for this reason that you exercise all sorts of 
cruelties towards us. Ah if it were permitted to us to 
render evil for evil, a single night and a few torches 
would suffice for our vengeance. We are but of yester- 
day, and we are every where among you — your cities, 
your islands, your fortresses, your camps, your colonies, 
your tribes, your councils, the palace, the senate, the fo- 
rum, in all these we abound, we leave you nothing free 
except your temples." 

I may be mistaken, my dear friend, but it seems to 
me that Madame de Stael in sketching the history of the 
philosophic mind should not have omitted such things. 
The literature of the Fathers which fills up the ages from 
Tacitus to Saint Bernard offered an immense career for 
"^flections and observations. One of the most injurious 

* Tertul. Ajiolcget, Chafi. I 
v Jiftolbget^ Cha/i, 37. 



188 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS. 

appellations for example, which the people could give to 
the first Christians was that of philosophers.* They call- 
ed them also Atheists^ and forced them to abjure their 
religion in these terms : aire tous Atheus — confusion to 
the Atheist s.% Strange fate of Christians ! burnt under 
Nero for atheism, guillotined under Robespierre for over- 
credulity ! — Which of the two tyrants was in the right ?— ~ 
According to the law of perfectibility Robespierre. 

Throughout the whole of Madame de Stael's book > 
ft am the one end to the other, there are nothing but the 
most singular contradictions. Sometimes she appears al- 
most a christian, and I am ready to rejoice in the idea ; 
but, in an instant after, philosophy resumes the ascen- 
dancy. Sometimes, inspired by her natural sensibility 
which tells her that there is nothing fine, nothing affect- 
ing without religion, she suffers her soul to have its free 
course ; but suddenly argumentation awakes and checks 
in an instant the effusions of her soul. Analysis then 
takes the place of that vague infinite in which thought 
loves to lose itself, and the understanding cites, to its tri- 
bunal, causes which formerly went before that 'old seat of 
truth called by our Gaulish fathers the entrails of man. 
Hence it results that Madame de Stael's book appears to 
be a singular mixture of truths and errors. When she 
ascribes to Christianity the melancholy that reigns in the 
genius of the moderns, I am entirely of her opinion ; but 
when she joins to this cause I know not what malignant 
influence of the north, I no longer recognise the writer 
who before appeared so judicious. You see, my dear 
triend, that 1 am led on by my subject ; but I proceed 

v to modern literature. 

* St. Just. Apolog. — Tert. Apologet, 8cc. 

Uhenogor. Legat. pro Christ. — Arnob. lib. I. 
% feuseb. lib. 4, Cup. 15. 



SYSTEM OF MAD. DE STAEL. 189 

The religion of the Hebrews, born amidst thunderings 
and lightnings, in the deserts of Horeb and of Sinai, had 
in it a sadness truly formidable. The Christian religion 
in retaining all that was sublime in that of Moses, soften- 
ed its other features, Formed to soothe the miseries and 
relieve the wants of our hearts, it is essentially tender and 
melancholy. It represents man always as a traveller who 
passes here below through a v alley of tears and only finds 
repose in the tomb. The God whom it offers to our ado- 
ration is the God of the unfortunate ; he has himself been 
a sufferer ; children and weak persons are the objects of 
his peculiar interest, he cherishes those who weep. 

The persecutions experienced by the first among the 
iaithful, undoubtedly increased their disposition to serious 
meditation. The invasion of the barbarians filled up the 
measure of their calamities, and the human mind received 
from it an impression of gloom which could never be 
wholly effaced. All the ties which attached them to life 
being broken at once, God alone remained as their hope,* 
the deserts as their refuge. In like manner as at the de- 
luge, men sought to save themselves by frying to the 
mountains ; but these new refugees carried with them the 
spoils of the arts and civilization. The most solitary pla- 
ces filled with anchorites, who, clothed with the leaves of 
me palm-tree, devoted themselves to unceasing penitence, 
in hopes of disarming the anger of the Deity. On every 
side convents were raised, where those unfortunate beings 
who had been deceived by the world sought a retreat ; 
where those souls who preferred remaining in ignorance 
of certain sentiments of existence,- rather than exposing 
themselves to seeing them cruelly betrayed, found a refuge. 
An all-prevailing melancholy was the necessary conse- 
quence of this monastic life ; for melancholy is principal- 
ly engendered by a vacuity of the passions ; it then most 
'.revaiis when these passions, being without an object, 



190 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS. 

consume away of themselves, as must happen in a life of 
solitude. 

This sentiment was besides increased by the regula- 
tions which were adopted in the greater part of the com- 
munities. In some these votaries of religion dug their 
own graves by the light of the moon, in the cemeteries of 
their convents ; in others they had no bed but a coffin ; 
many wandered about like departed shades, over the ruins 
of Memphis and Babylon, accompanied by the lions 
whom they had tamed with the sounds of the harps of 
David. Some condemned themselves to a perpetual si- 
lence, others repeated in an eternal canticle either the sighs 
of Job, the lamentations of Jeremiah, or the penitential 
hymns of the prophet king. The monasteries were built in 
the most desert spots ; they were dispersed over the sum- 
mits of Libanus, they were to be found amid the arid 
sands of Egypt, in the deepest recesses of the forests of 
Gaul, and upon the strands of the British seas. Oh how 
melancholy must have been the tinklings of the bells which 
amid the calm of night called the vestals to prayer and 
watching, and which mingled themselves beneath the 
vaults of the temples with the last sounds of the canticles, 
and the feeble breaking of the distant waves. How pro- 
found must have been the meditations of the solitary who 
from between the bars of his window contemplated the 
sublime aspect of the sea, perhaps agitated by a storm !— 
a tempest amid the waves, calm in his retreat, men dashed 
to pieces upon the rocks at the asylum of peace!— infi- 
nite space on the other side the walls of a cell, like as the 
stone of the tomb alone separates eternity from life. All 
these different powers, misfortunes, religion, varied recol- 
lections, the manners of the times, even the scenes of na- 
ture, combined to make the genius of Christianity the 
genius of Melancholy itself. 



SYSTEM OF MAD. DE STAEL. 191 

It appears to me useless then to have recourse to the 
Barbarians of the North to explain this character of gloo- 
miness which Madame de Stael finds more particularly 
in the literature of England and of Germany, but which 
appears to me not less remarkable among the masters of 
the French school. Neither England nor Germany pro- 
duced Pascal of Bossuet, those two great models of me- 
lancholy in thoughts and in sentiments. But Ossian, my 
dear friend, is not he the great fountain of the Noru% 
whence all the bards have intoxicated themselves with 
gloom, as the ancients painted Homer under the likeness 
of a great river at which all the petty rivers came to fill 
their urns. I confess that this idea of Madame de Stael 
pleases rne«much; I love to represent to myself these 
two blind men, the one seated upon the summit of a rug- 
ged mountain in Scotland, with his head bald, his beard 
wet with dew, the harp in his hand dictating his laws from 
the midst of his fogs to all the poetic tribes of Germany ; 
the other exalted upon the heights of Pindus surrounded 
by the Muses, who hold his lyre, raising his venerable 
head towards the azure heavens of Greece, and with a 
sceptre of laurels in his hand giving laws to the country 
of Tasso and Racine. " You abandon my cause then?* 
you will perhaps here be ready to exclaim. Undoubted- 
ly, my friend, but I must whisper you the reason in se- 
cret, it is that Ossian was himself a Christian. — Ossian a 
Christian ! — Grant that I am happy in having converted 
this bard ; and that in pressing him under the banners of 
religion I take from the Age of Melancholy one of its first 
heroes/ 

None but foreigners are still the dupes of Ossian ; all 
England is convinced that the poems which bear the name 
of his are the works of Mr. Macpherson himself. I was 
for a long time deceived by this ingenious fraud ; an en- 
thusiast m Ossian, like a young man, as I was then, I was 



192 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS. 

obliged to pass several years among the literati of London 
before I could be entirely undeceived. But at length, 
conviction was no longer to be resisted, and the palaces of 
Fingal vanished away from before me like many other of 
my dreams. You know of the long-standing controver- 
sy between Doctor Johnson and the suppositious transla- 
tor of the Caledonian bard. Mr. Macpherson, pressed to 
the uttermost, never could produce the manuscript of Fin- 
gal, concerning which he told a ridiculous story that he 
found it in an old coffer at the house of a peasant, adding 
that the manuscript was written on paper in Runic cha- 
racters. Now Johnson has clearly demonstrated that nei- 
ther paper or the Runic Alphabet were in use in Scotland 
at the epoch fixed on by Macpherson. As to the text, 
which we see printed with some of the poems by Smith, 
or any that may hereafter be printed, it is well known that 
these poems have been translated from the English into 
the Caledonian tongue, for several of the Scotch moun- 
taineers have made themselves accomplices in the fraud of 
their fellow- countryman. This it was that deceived Doc- 
tor Blair.* 

It is indeed no very uncommon thing in England for 
manuscripts to be found in this way. We have lately 
seen a tragedy of Shakespeare; and what is still more ex 
traordinary ballads of the time of Chaucer were so perfect 
ly imitated in the style, the parchment, and the ancient 
character, that every body was deceived by the imposture 
Many volumes were already prepared and ready for the 
press developing the beauties, and proving the authentici- 
ty of these miraculous works, when the editor was detected 

* Some English Journals have asserted, and the assertion ha< 
been copied into the French Journals, that the true text of Ossiar 
was at length about to appear ; but ft can never be any thing 
more than a Scotch version mrde from the text of Mr. Macpher 
son himself 



SYSTEM OF MAD. DE STAEL 193 

composing and writing himself these Saxon poems. The 
admirers and commentators got out of the scrape with on- 
ly a laugh against them, and the trouble of making a 
bonfire of their works, but, if I am not mistaken the 
young man who had given this extraordinary direction to 
his talents, in despair, put an end to his own life. 

It is however certain that there are ancient poems, in 
existence, which bear the name of Ossian ; they are of 
Irish or Erse origin, the work of some monks of the thir- 
teenth century. Fingal is a giant who makes one step 
only over from Scotland to Ireland, and the heroes go t*> 
the Holy-Land to expiate the murders they have commit- 
ted. 

To say the truth it seems now wholly incredible how 
any one ever could have been deceived with respect to the 
true author of Ossian's poems. The man of the eigh- 
teenth century peeps through the thin veil at every mo~ 
ment. I will only instance by way of example the apos- 
trophe of the bard to the sun. •' O sun," he says, 
" whence comest thou, whither dost thou go, wilt thou 
not fall one day," &c. &c* 

Madame de Staei who is so well versed in the history 
of the human understanding will see that there are here so 
many complex ideas under moral, physical, and meta- 
physical relations, that they can scarcely without palpable 
absurdity be ascribed to a savage. Besides this, the 
most abstract ideas on time, on duration, and on eternity, 
occur at almost every page of Ossian. I have lived 
among the savages of America, and I have observed that 
they often talk of the times that are past, but never of 
those that are to come. Some grains of dust at the bot- 
tom of the tomb, remain to them as a testimony of life in 

* I write from memory and may be mistaken as to the exact 
words, but I give the sense, and that is-sufficient. 

Bb 



194 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS. 

the vacuum of the past, but what can indicate to them 
existence in the vacuum of the future. This anticipation 
of the future, which is so familiar to us, is nevertheless 
one of the strongest abstractions at which the ideas of man* 
kind have arrived. Happy the savage who does not know 
like us, that grief is followed by grief, and whose soul de- 
void of recollection or of foresight does not concenter in 
itself, by a sort of painful eternity, the past, the present, 
and the future. 

But what proves incontestably that Mr. Macpherson 
is the author of Ossian's poems, is the perfection or the 
beautiful ideal of morals which reigns in them. This de- 
serves to be somewhat dwelt upon. The beautiful ideal 
is the offspring of society ; men nearly in a state of nature 
have no conception of it. They content themselves, in 
their songs, with painting exactly what they see ; and as 
they live in the midst of deserts, their pictures are always 
grand and poetical ; for this reason no bad taste is to be 
found in their compositions, but then they are and must 
be, monotonous, and the sentiments they express cannot 
arrive at true heroism. 

The age of Homer was already some way removed 
from this time. Let a savage pierce a kid with his ar^ 
rows, let him cut it in pieces in the midst of the forests, 
let him extend his victim upon glowing coals made from 
the trunk of a venerable oak, so far all is noble in this ac- 
tion. But in the tent of Achilles we. find basons, spits, 
knives ; one instrument more and Homer would have: 
sunk into the meanness and littleness of German descrip- 
tions, or he must have had recourse to the beautiful ideal 
by beginning to conceal. Observe this well ; — the fol 
lowing explanation will make all clear. 

In proportion as society, increasing in refinement, 
multiplied the wants and the conveniences of life, the po- 
its learnt that they must not, as before, place every thing 



,*Ki«n» .- MAD. DE STAEL. 195 

before the eyes but must veil over certain parts of the pic- 
ture. This first step taken, they next saw that in doing 
*5o, some choice must be made, and at length that the 
thing chosen was susceptible of a finer form, or a finer ef» 
feet, in such, or such a position. Thus always conceal- 
ing, and always selecting, always retrenching and always 
adding, they found themselves by degrees deviating into 
forms which were not natural, but which were more beau- 
tiful than those of nature, and to these forms they gave 
the name of the beautiful ideal. This beautiful ideal may 
then be defined as the art of choosiag and concealing. 

The beautiful ideal in morals was formed on the same 
principles as the beautiful ideal in physics, by keeping 
out of sight certain emotions of the soul ; for the soul 
has its degrading wants and its meannesses as well as the 
body. And I cannot refrain from observing that man is 
of all living beings the only one who is susceptible of be- 
ing represented more perfect than he is by nature, and as 
approaching to divinity. No one would think of painting 
the beautiful ideal of an eagle, a lion, &c. If I dared carry 
my ideas to the faculty of reasonings my dear friend, I 
should say, that I see in that a grand idea in the author 
of all things, and a proof of our immortality. 

That society wherein morals have attained with the 
greatest celerity all the developements of which they are 
capable, must the soonest attain the beautiful ideal of 
character. Now this is what eminently distinguishes the 
societies formed in the christian religion. It is a^ strange 
thing and yet strictly true, that through the medium of the 
Gospel, morals had arrived among our ancestors at their 
highest point of perfection, while as to every thing else 
they were absolute barbarians. 

I ask now where Ossian could have imbibed those 
perfect ideas of morals with which he adorns his heroes. 
It was not in his religion, since it is agreed on all hands 



he 



ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS. 



that there is no religion among his savages. Gould it be 
from nature itself? — And how should the savage Ossian 
seated upon a rock in Caledonia, while every thing a- 
round him was cruel, barbarous, gross and sanguinary, 
arrive so rapidly at those notions of morals which were 
scarcely understood by Socrates in the most enlightened 
days of Greece ? — notions, which the Gospel alone reveal- 
ed to the world, as the result of observations pursued for 
four thousand years upon the character of man. Madame 
de Stael's memory has betrayed her when she asserts 
that the Scandinavian poetry has the same characteristics 
which distinguish the poetry of the pretended Scotch bard. 
Every one knows that the contrary is the fact, the former 
breathes nothing but brutality and vengeance. Mr. Mac- 
pherson has himself been careful to point out this differ- 
ence and to bring the warriors of Morven into contrast 
with the the warriors of Lochlin. The ode, to which 
Madame de Stael refers in a note has even been cited, 
and commented upon by Doctor Blair, in opposition to 
the poetry of Ossian. This ode resembles Very much the 
death song of the Iroquois : " I do not fear death, I am 
" brave, why can I not again drink out of the skulls of 
11 my enemies, and devour their hearts?' fcfc. in fine, 
Mr. Macpherson has been guilty of mistakes in Natural 
History, which would alone suffice to betray the impos- 
ture : he has planted oaks where nothing but gorse ever 
grew, and made eagles scream, where nothing was ever 
heard but the voice of the barnacle, or the whistling of the 
curlew. 

Mr. Macpherson was a member of the English par- 
liament, he was rich, he had a very fine park among the 
the mountains of Scotland where by dint of much art, and 
of great care, he had succeeded in raising a few trees ; he 
was besides a very good Christian and deeply read in the 



SYSTEM OF MAP. D£ STAEL. 197 

Bible; he has sung his mountains, his park, and his re- 
ligion.* 

This does not undoubtedly derogate in any way from 
the merit of the poems of Fingal and Temora ; they are 
not the less true models of a sort of melancholy of the 
desert, which is full of charms. I have just procured the 
small edition which has been recently published in Scot- 
land, and you must not frown, my dear friend, when I tell 
you that I never go out now without my Wetstein's Ho- 
mer in one pocket and my Glasgow edition of Ossian in 
the other. It results however from all I have said that 
Madame de Sta'el's system respecting the influence of 
Ossian upon the literature of the north moulders away ; 
and if she shall persist in believing that such a per- 
son as this Scotch bard really did exist, she has too 
much sense and reason not to perceive that a system which 
rests upon a basis so disputable must be a bad one. 
For my part, you see that I have every thing to gain by 
the fail of Ossian, and that in depriving the tragedies of 
Shakspeare, Young's Night Thoughts, Pope's Eloisa 
to Abelard, and Richardson's Clarissa, of this gloomy 
perfectibility I establish victoriously the melancholy of 
religious ideas. All these authors were christians, it is 
even believed that Shakspeare was a catholic. 

If I were now to follow Madame de Stael into the age 
of Louis XIV, you would doubtless reproach me with 
being altogether extravagant. I will confess that, on this 
subject I, harbour a superstition almost ridiculous. I faH 

* Several passages of Ossian are evident imitations from the 
Bible, as are others from Homer. Among the latter is that fine 
expression the Joy of Grief krueoin tetarpomestha gooio, Book 
II. verse 211. I must observe that, in the original of Homer 
there is a cast of melancholy which has not been retained by any 
of his translators. I do not believe, like Madame de Stael, that 
there has ever been a particular Age of Melancholy, but I believe 
that all great geniuses have a disposition to melancholy. 



198 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS. 

into a holy anger when people would compare the writers 
of the eighteenth century with those of the seventeenth ; 
even at this moment, while I write, the very idea is ready 
to drive my reason out oj all bounds as Blaise Pascal used 
to say. I must have been terribly led away by the talents 
of Madame de Stael, if I could have remained silent in 
such a cause. 

We have no: historians she says. I should have 
thought that Bossuet was worth something. Montesquieu 
himself is indebted to him for his work on the Grandeur 
and fall of the Roman Empire, the sublime abridgement 
of which he found in the third part of Bossuet's Essay on 
Universal History. Herodotus, Tacitus, and Livy, are, 
according to my ideas little in comparison with Bossuet ^ 
to say this, is sufficient to say that the Guiccardini's, the 
Marianas, the Humes, the Robertsons, disappear before 
him. What a survey does he take of the whole earth, — 
he is in a thousand places at once. A patriarch under the 
palms of Thophel, a minister at the court of Babylon, 
a priest at Memphis, a legislator at Sparta, a citizen at A- 
thens and at Rome, he changes time and place at his will, 
he passes along with the rapidity and the majesty of cen- 
turies ; holding in his hand the rod of the law with an in- 
credible authoritativeness he drives Jews and Gentiles to 
the tomb ; he comes at last himself at the end of this con- 
voy of generations, and marching forwards, supported by 
Isaiah and Jeremiah, utters his prophetic lamentations a- 
mid the dust and ruins of mankind. 

Without religion a man may have talents, but it is 
almost impossible to have genius. How little appear to 
me the greater part of men of the eighteenth century who 
ad of the infinite instrument employed by the Racines 
and the Bossuets as the fundamental note on which their 
eloquence was rested, have recourse to the scale of a nar- 
;. ' Josophy, which subdivides the soul into degrees 



SYSTEM OF MAD. DE STAEL, 199 

and minutes, and reduces the whole universe, the Deity 
himself included, to a simple subtraction from nothing. 

Every writer who refuses to believe in one only God, 
the author of the universe and the judge of man, whose 
immortal soul he created, banishes infinity from his 
works. He restrains his ideas to a circle of mud from 
which he cannot free himself; every thing operates 
with him by the impure means of corruption and regener- 
ation. The vast abyss is but a little bituminous water, 
mountains are only petty protuberances of calcareous or 
vitrescible stone. Those two admirable luminaries of 
heaven the one of which is extinguished when the other 
is lighted, for the purpose of illuminating our labours and 
our watchings, these are only two ponderous masses form- 
ed by chance, by I know not what fortuitous combina- 
tion of matter. Thus all is disenchanted, all is laid open 
by incredulity. These people would even tell you that 
they know what man is, and if you would believe them 
they would explain to you whence comes thought, and 
what makes the heart palpitate at hearing the recital of a 
noble action ; so easily do they comprehend what never 
could be comprehended by the, greatest geniuses. But 
draw near and see in what these' mighty lights of their 
philosophy consist. Look to the bottom of the tomb> 
contemplate that inhumed corps, that statue of annihila- 
tion, veiled by a shroud — this is the whole man of the 
Atheist. 

You have here a very long letter, my dear friend, yet 
I have not said half what I could say upon the subject. 
I shall be called a capuchin, but you know that Diderct 
loved the capuchins very much. For you, in your cha- 
racter of poet, why should you be frightened at a grey- 
beard ; Homer long ago reconciled the Muses to it. Be 
this at it may, it is time to think of drawing the epistle; 
to a conclusion. But since you know that we papists 



UDO ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECT*. 

have a strong passion for making converts, I will own to 
you, in confidence, that I would give much to see Ma- 
dam de Stael range herself under the banners of religion. 
This is what I would venture to say to her had I the hon- 
our of knowing her. 

" You are, Madam, undoubtedly a woman of very 
superior talents, you have a strong understanding, your 
imagination is sometimes full of charms, as witness what 
you say of Erminia, disguised as a warrior ; and your 
turns of expression are often at the same time brilliant 
and elevated. B ut notwithstanding these advantages your 
work is far from being all that it might have been made. 
The style is monotonous, it wants rapidity and it is too 
much mingled with metaphysical expressions. The so- 
phism of the ideas is repulsive, the erudition does not sa- 
tisfy, and the heart is too much sacrificed to the thoughts. 
Whence arise these defects ? — from your philosophy. 
Eloquence is the quality in which your work fails the most 
essentially, and there is no eloquence without religion. 
Man has so much need of an eternity of hope, that you 
have been obliged to form one to yourself upon the earth, 
in your system of perfectibility, to replace that infinite 
hope which you refuse to see in heaven. If you be sen- 
sible to fame return to religious ideas. I am convinced 
that you have within you the germ of a much finer work 
than any you have hitherto given us. Your talents are 
not above half developed ; philosophy stifles them, and if 
you remain in your opinions you will not arrive at the 
height you might attain by following the route which 
conducted Pascal, Bossuet, and Racine, to im mortality/ f 

Thus would I address Madame de Stael, as far as 
glory is concerned. In adverting to the subject of hap- 
piness that my sermon might be the less repulsive, I 
would vary my manner ; I would borrow the language cf 



SYSTEM OF MAD. DE STAEL. 201 

the forests, as I may well be permitted to do in my quality 
of a savage, and would say to my neophite. 

" You appear not to be happy, you often complain in 
your work of wanting hearts that can understand you. 
Know that there are certain souls who seek in vain in na- 
ture souls formed to assimilate with their own, who are 
condemned by the supreme mind to a sort of eternal 
widowhood. If this be your misfortune, it is by religion 
alone that it can be cured. The word philosophy in the 
language of Europe, appears to me synonimous with the 
word solitude, in the idiom of savages. How then can 
philosophy fill up the void of your days ? — can the void of 
the desert be filled up by a desert. 

" There was once a woman in the Apalachean moun- 
tains, who said : ' There are no such things as good 
genii for I am unhappy, and all the inhabitants of our 
huts are unhappy. I have not met with a man, whatever 
was the air of happiness which he wore, that was not suf- 
fering under some concealed wound. The heart, the 
most serene to appearance resembled the natural well of 
the Savannah of Alachua ; the surface appears calm and 
pure, but when you look to the bosom of this tranquil 
bason you perceive a large crocodile which the well che- 
rishes in its waters.' 

" The woman went to consult a fortuneteller of the 
desert of Scambra, whether there were such things as 
good genii. The Sage answered her : ' Reed of the river 
who would support thee if there were not good genii ; 
thou oughtest to believe in them for the reason alone that 
thou art unhappy. What wouldest thou do with life if 
being without happiness, thou wert also without hope. 
Occupy thyself, fill up in secret the solitude of thy days 
by acts of beneficence ; be the polar star of the unfortu- 
nate, spread out thy modest lustre in the shade, be witness 
to .the tears that flow in silence, and let all that are misera- 

Cc 






C 2\J'2 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS* 

ble turn their eyes to thee without being dazzled by it. 
These are the sole means of finding the happiness you 
want. The Great Mind has only struck thee to render 
thee sensible to the woes of thy brethren, and that thou 
may est seek to soothe them. If thy heart be like to the 
well of the crocodile, it is also like those trees which only 
yield their balm to heal the wounds of others when wound- 
ed themselves by the steel.' Thus spoke the fortunetel- 
ler of the desert of Scambra, to the woman of the Apa- 
lachean mountains, and retired again into his cavern in 
the rock." 

Adieu, my dear friend, I embrace you, and love you 
with all my heart* 



203 



ON THE POET GILBERT.* 



WHEN we see M. Gilbert poor and without a narne $ 
attack the powerful faction of men of letters, who in the 
last century dispensed fame and fortune ; — when we see 
him in this unequal contest struggle almost alone against 
the opinions most in fashion, and the highest reputations, 
we cannot but acknowledge in his success the prodigious 
empire of talent. 

A collection of Heroics, of translations, and fugitive 
pieces, under the title of the Literary Debut, announced 
M. Gilbert to the world of letters. A young man who 
seeks his own talent, is very liable to mistake it ; the Ju- 
venal of the eighteenth century deceived himself with res- 
pect to his. The espistle from Eloisa to Abelard, had 
revived a species of poetry which had been almost forgot- 
ten since the days of Ovid. The Heroide, a poem, partly 
historic, partly elegiac,, has this strong objection that it 
rests on declamation and common place expressions of 
love. The poet, making his hero speak for himself, can 
neither elevate his language to the proper inspired mark, 
suited to the lyre, nor descend to the familiar tone of a 
letter. The subject of Eloisa alone permitted at once all 
the naivete of passion, and all the art of the Muse, be- 
cause religion lends a pomp to language without deprive 

* He died in the year 1780, See the remarkable account of 
his death in the Historical and Literary Memoirs and Anecdotes 
by Baron de Grimm, English translation, anno, 1780, 



204 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS. 

ing it of its simplicity. Love then assumes a character 
at once sublime and formidable, when the most serious oc- 
cupations, the holy temple itself, the sacred altars, the ter- 
rible mysteries of religion all recal the idea of it, are all 
associated with its recollections.* 

The history of Madame de Gauge did not present M. 
Gilbert with as powerful an engine as religion. Yet fra- 
ternal affection, contrasted with jealousy, might have fur- 
nished him with some very pathetic situations. In the 
Heroide of Dido, the poet has translated some of the 
verses of the Ene'id very happily, particularly the non 
ignara malis. 

In woe myself, I learned to weep for woe. 

I know not however whether this sentiment be in it- 
self as just as it is amiable ; it is certain at least that there 
are men whose hearts adversity seems to harden ; they 
have shed all their tears for themselves. 

Nature had given M. Gilbert some fancy and much 
assurance ; so that he succeeded better in the Ode, than 
in Heroics. The exordium of his Last Judgment is 
very fine. 

What benefits have all your savage virtues produced 
Justly you have said, God protects us as a father 
Oppress'd on all sides, cast down, you crouch 
Under the feet of the wicked whose boldness is prosperous. 

Let this God come then if ever he existed ! — 
Since virtue is the subject of misfortune 
Since the child of sorrow calls and is not heard 
He must deep in Heaven beneath his silent thunders. 

The sound of the trumpet which awakens the dead 
from the tomb, answers alone to the question of the wick- 

• M* ' v - TAc Prodigal Sen.. 



ON THE POET GILBERT. 205 

ed. It would be difficult to find a turn more animated, 
more lyric. Every one knows the lines which conclude 
this ode. 

The Eternal has broken his useless thunder, — 
And of wings and a scythe for ever depriv'd 
Upon the world destroyed time stands motionless. 

The fine expression widow of a king people, speaking 
of Rome, which is in the ode addressed to Monsieur upon 
his journey to Piedmont : — the apostrophe of the impi- 
ous to Christ in the ode upon the Jubilee : we have irre- 
trievably convicted thee of imposture oh Christ ! with the 
poet's reflection in speaking again in his own character, 
after this blasphemy : thus spoke in past times a people 
of false sages ; — Thunder personified which would select 
the head of the blasphemer to crush it with its power, if 
the time of mercy were not come ; — the people marching 
in the steps of the cross, those old warriors who to ap- 
pease the vengeance of the lord go to offer laurels, and the 
sufferings of a body of which the tomb already possesses 
the half; — all these things appear to us in the true nature 
of the ode which : 

Winging to heaven its ambitious flight 

Holds in its measures, commerce with the gods. 

Why then should M. Gilbert, who joins boldness of 
expressian to the lyric movement, not be placed in the 
same rank with Malherbe, Racine, and Rousseau ? — It is 
that he fails frequently in harmony of numbers, without 
which there can be no real poetry. Poetic imagery and 
thoughts, cannot of themselves constitute a poet, there 
must be also harmony of versification, a melodious com- 
bination of sounds ; the chords of the lyre must be heard 
to vibrate. Unfortunately the secret of this divine harmony 
cannot be taught, a happy ear is the gift of nature. M. 



206 ESSAYS Otf VARIOUS SUBJECTS. 

Gilbert does not understand those changes of tone which 
cross each other, and, by the mixture of their accords, 
often communicate a heavenly transport a delicious rap- 
ture to the soul.* In some few strophes he has some- 
what seized this harmony so necessary to the lyriac ge- 
nius. In speaking of the battle of Ushant he exclaims ? 

Haste to revenge, the time's arrived 
When these our haughty foes so oft forsworn 
Their pride, their still enduring wrongs shall expiate. 
Too long with patience have our souls endur'd 
The servile peace which they elate 
With victory impos'd. 
Dunkirk invokes you, hear you not her voice 
Raise, raise again the towers that guard her shores, 
Release her port, by slavery long restrain'd 
From the harsh doom that bound her to obey 
At once two sovereign lords. 

M. Gilbert has sometimes laid down the lyre, to as- 
sume the voice of the orator. " There was once a coun- 
try/' says he, in the peroration of his eulogium of Leo- 
pold Duke of Lorraine, " there was once a country in 
which the subjects had a right to judge their master, at 
the moment when Providence calls monarchs to himself 
to require from them an account of their actions. They 
assembled in a throng around his body, which was ex- 
posed on the side of the tomb, when one insulted the un- 
fortunate corpse by saying : My innocent family were 
poisoned by thy orders. — Another exclaimed : He plun- 
dered me oj all my property. — Another : Men were in 
his eyes no more than the flocks that graze the fields ; 
all condemned him to become the prey of ravenous birds. 
But if he had been just, then the whole nation with hair 
dishevelled, uttering dreadful cries, assembled to deplore 
their loss, and to raise for him a superb mausoleum, while 

* Longinus, chap. 32. 



ON THE POET GILBERT. 207 

the orators made the temples resound with celebrating his 
glory. Well, my friend, the time which has elapsed since 
the death of Leopold gives us the same privilege that 
these people enjoyed. We have nothing to apprehend 
from the resentment of his son, his sceptre is broken, his 
throjie is annihilated. There are here citizens of all ranks 
and descriptions ; some have lived under his laws, others 
have learnt from their fathers the history of his reign. 
Let them rise. — And thou shade of Leopold, come forth 
from the tomb, come and receive the tribute of praise or 
of malediction which is owed to thee by this august as- 
sembly. Speak, citizens, speak, this great shade is here 
present, Have ye any thing wherewith to reproach Leo- 
pold? — Not one speak? — Have ye any thing, I ask, 
wherewith to reproach Leopold? — Wherever I turn my 
eyes I see countenances cast down, I see vain tears flow. 
Ungrateful men ! dare you wrong your benefactor by this 
injurious silence ? Speak, I say once more, Have ye 
any thing wherewith to reproach Leopold? — Alas ! I un- 
derstand ye. — You have no reproaches to make, unless 
to heaven, that so soon cut short his days* — Let us then 
weep." 

This is not indeed the eloquence of the Bishop of 
Meaux, but if this passage had been found in Flechier, 
it would long ago have been cited with honour and dis- 
tinction. 

In many passages of his works, M. Gilbert complains 
bitterly of his fate, " What folly," said a woman once, 
" to open our hearts to the world ; it laughs at our weak- 
nesses, it does not believe in our virtues, it does not pity 
our sorrows." The verses that follow, the effusion of a 
man under misfortunes, are only remarkable for the ac- 
cent of truth which they bear. The poet shews himself 
struggling by turns against the noble thirst of fame, and 
"he chagrins inseparable from the career of fetters. 



208 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECT*. 

Heaven placed my cradle in the dust of earth, 
I blush not at it — master of a throne 
My lowest subject had my bosom envied. 
Asham'd of owing aught to blood alone 
I had wished to be reborn, to raise myself. 

This is truly the language of a young man who feels, 
for the first time, a generous passion for glory. But he 
is soon reduced to regretting his primitive obscurity ; he 
draws a picture of the happiness of a friend, whom he has 
quitted in the country : " Justice, peace, every thing 
smiled around Philemon. Oh how should I delight in 
that enchanting simplicity while expecting the return of 
an absent husband, assembles all the fruits of their tender 
love ; while directing the yet feeble steps of the elder, and 
carrying the youngest in her arms, she hastens with them 
to the foot of the path by which their father is to descend." 
Here the softened feelings of misfortune have mingled 
themselves with the accents of the poet, we no longer see 
the satyrist a?med with his bloody lines* 

We are sorry to find M. Gilbert dwelling so often 
upon his hunger. Society, who always find indigence 
troublesome, that they may avoid being solicited to re- 
lieve it, say that it is noble to conceal our misery. The 
man of genius struggling against adversity, is a gladiator 
who fights for the pleasures of the world, in the arena of 
life ; one wishes to see him die with a good grace. M. 
Gilbert was not ungrateful, and whoever had the happi- 
ness of alleviating his sorrows received a tribute from his 
muse, how small soever might have been the boon. Ho- 
mer, who like our young poet, had felt indigence, says, 
that the smallest gifts do not fail to soothe and rejoice us. 

In the piece entitled the Complaints of the Unhappy, 
we find a passage truly pathetic : 



Woe, woe, to those alas ! who gave me birth i 
Blind, barbarous father, mother void of pity, 






ON THE POET GILBERT. 2Q9 

Poor, must you bring an infant to the light 

The heir to nought but your sad indigence ? 

Ah had ye yet but suffered my young mind 

In ignorance to remain, I then had liv'd 

In peace, tilling the earth ; but you must nurse 

Those fires of genius that have since consum'd m,e. 

The last reproach which our unfortunate poet ad- 
dresses to the authors of his days falls very lamentably 
upon the manners of the age. It is thus that we all aim 
at soaring above the rank to which nature had destined us. 
Led on by this universal error, the honest mechanic res- 
trains his scanty portion of bread that he may give his 
children a learned education ; an education which too 
often leads them only to despise their families. Genius 
is besides very rare. Uudoubtedly a man of superior 
talents is sometimes to be found in the humbler walks of 
life, but how many estimable artisans taken from their 
mechanical labours would prove nothing but wretched 
authors. Society then finds itself overcharged with use- 
less citizens, who, tormented by their own self-love harass 
both the government and the people at large with their 
vain systems and idle speculations. Nothing is so dan- 
gerous as a man of moderate talents whose only occupa- 
tion is to make books. 

Nay, although a parent should be convinced that his 
child is born with a decided talent for letters is it certain 
that he seeks the happiness of that child in opening to him 
this barren career ? — -Oh let him recollect these lines of 
of the poet now in question. 

How many a hapless author, wretched doom I 
Has want conducted to his unknown tomb. 

Let him think of Gilbert himself, extended upon tfe 
bed of death, breathing out his last sigh with the follow- 
ing melancholv reflection. 

Dd 



610" ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS* 

At life's fair banquet an unhappy guest 

One day I sat, now see me on my bier. 
While o'er the spot where my sad corse shall rest, 

No mourner e'er shall -come to drop one tear. 

Would not Gilbert, a simple labourer, cherished by 
his neighbours, beloved by his wife, dying full of years 
surrounded by his children, under the humble roof of his 
fathers, have been much more happy than Gilbert hated 
by men, abandoned by his friends, breathing at the age of 
thirty, his last sigh on the wretched bed of an hospital^ 
deprived through chagrin of that reason to which alone he 
looked for any claim to superiority ; — of reason, that weak 
compensation which heaven grants to men of talent, for 
the sorrows to which they are subjected. 

It will doubtless be here objected against what I say, 
that if Gilbert was unhappy he had no one but himself to 
reproach for it. True it is indeed that satire is not the 
path which leads to the acquisition of friends, and concili- 
ates the public esteem and beneficence. But, in our age, 
this species of poetry has been too much decried. While 
the reigning faction in literature has been prodigal of the 
appellations of toad-eaters, sycophants, fools, sneakers, 
and the like, to all who were not of their own opinions, it 
has regarded the least attempt at retaliation as a heinous 
crime ; complaining of it to the echoes, wearying the 
ears of the sovereign with their cries, wanting all who 
dared attack the apostles of the new doctrine to be prose- 
cuted as libellers : "'Ah, my good Alembert," said the 
King of Prusia, endeavouring to console this great man, 
" if you were King of England you would experience 
mortifications of a very different kind which your good 
subjects would provide to exercise your patience." And 
in another letter he says : " You charge me with a com 
mission so much the more embarrassing, as I am neither 
\ corrector of the press, nor a censor of the gazettes. As 



ON THE POET GILBERT. . . 211 

to the gazetteer of the Lower Rhine, the family of Maule- 
on must think it right that it should not be molested, since 
without freedom in writing, men's minds must remain in 
darkness, and since the Encyclopaedists, whose zealous 
disciple I am, deprecate all censure, and insist that the 
press ought to be entirely free, that every one should be 
permitted to write whatever may be dictated by his pecu- 
liar mode of thinking." 

One can never enough admire all the wit, the talents? 
the irony, and the good sense that reign throughout the 
letters of Frederick. Satire is not in itself a, crime, it may 
be very useful to correct fools and rogues, when it is res- 
trained within due bounds : Ride si sapis. But it must 
be acknowledged that poets sometimes go too far, and, 
instead of ridicule, run into calumny. Satire should be 
the lists m which each champion, as in the pastimes of 
chivalry, should aim determined strokes at his advesary, 
but avoiding to strike either at the head or the heart. 

If ever the subject could justify the satire, this un- 
doubtedly, was the case in that chosen by M. Gilbert. 
The misfortunes which have been brought upon us by 
the vices and the opinions with which the poet reproaches 
the eighteenth century, shew how much he was in the 
right to sound the cry of alarm. He predicted the dis- 
asters we have experienced, and verses where formerly we 
found exaggeration we are now obliged to confess con- 
tain nothing but simple truths* " A monster' rises up, 
and strengthens himself in Paris ; who, clothed in the 
mantle of philosophy or rather falsely clothed under that 
assumed garb, stifles talent and destroys virtue. A dan- 
gerous innovator, he seeks by his cruel system to chase 
the Supreme Being from heaven, and dooming the soul to 
the same fate as the expiring body, would annihilate man 
bv a double death. Yet this monster carries not with 



212 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS. 

him a fierce and savage air, and has the sound of virtue 
always in his mouth." 

It is indeed a most remarkable thing in history that 
the attempt should ever be made to introduce atheism a- 
mong a whole people under the name of virtue. The 
word liberty was incessantly in the mouths of these people 
who crouched at the feet of the great, and who, not satis- 
fied with the contempt of the first court in the kingdom, 
chose to swallow large draughts of it from a second. 
They were fanatics crying out against Janaticwn ; men 
triply wicked, for they combined with the vices of the 
atheist, the intolerance of the sectary, and the self-conceit 
of the author. 

M. Gilbert was so much the more courageous in his 
attacks upon philosophism^ because not sparing any party, 
he painted with energy the vices of the great, and of the 
clergy, which served as an excuse to the innovation, and 
which they alleged in justification of their principles * 

See where with steps enervated by sloth, 
The great ones of the land scarce know to drag 
Along their feeble limbs. 

Could we escape a fearful destruction. — From the 
days of the regency, to the end of the reign of Louis 
XV,* intrigue every day made and unmade statesmen. 
Thence that continual change of systems, of projects, oi 
views. These ephemeral ministers were followed by a 
crowd of flatterers, of clerks, of actors, of mistresses ; all, 
beings of a moment, were eager to suck the blood of the 
miserable, and were soon trampled on by another genera- 
tion of favourites as fugitive and as voracious as the for- 
mer. Thus, while the imbecility and folly of the govern- 
ment irritated the minds of the people, the moral disorders 
of the country reached their utmost height. The tnan 



OS THE FOE? GILBERT* 213 

who no longer found happiness in the bosom of his family, 
accustomed himself to seek his happiness in ways that 
were independent of others. Repelled by the manners of 
the age from the bosom of nature, he wrapped himself up 
in a harsh and cold egotism, which withered all virtue in 
its very bud. 

To complete our misfortunes, these sophists, in des- 
troying happiness upon the earth, sought also to deprive 
man of the hopes of a better life. In this ^position, alone 
in the midst of the universe, having nothing to feed on 
but the chagrins of a vacant and solitary heart, which 
never felt another heart beat in unison with it, was it very 
astonishing that so many Frenchmen were ready to seize 
the first phantom which presented a new world to their 
imaginations. For the rest, was M. Gilbert the only per- 
son who saw through the innovators of his age ? — -.was 
he to be singled out as a mark against which all their 
cries of atrocity were to be directed because he had given 
so faithful a picture of them in his verses. If some severe 
strokes were aimed against that passion of thinking and 
that geometrical rage which had seized all France, did he 
go farther than Frederick II, whose words may well be 
quoted here as a commentary upon, and an excuse for our 
poet. 

In a dialogue of the dead, where this royal author 
brings together Prince Eugene, General Lichtenstein, and 
the Duke of Marlborough, he draws this picture of the 
Encyclopaedists. " These people,' * he says, " are a sect 
which have arisen in our days assuming themselves to be 
philosophers. To the effrontery of Cynics they add the 
noble impudence of putting forth all the paradoxes that 
come into their heads : they pride themselves upon their 
geometry, and maintain that those who have not studied 
this science cannot have correct ideas, consequently that 
they themselves alone have the faculty of reasoning. If 



214 ESSAYS ON YARIOU3 SUBJECTS, 

any one dares to attack them, he is soon drowned in a de- 
luge of ink and abuse ; the crime of treason against phi- 
losophy is wholly unpardonable. They decry all sciences 
except their own calculations ; poetry is a frivolity, the 
fictions of which ought to be banished the world : a poet 
ought not to think any thing worthy of his rhymes but 
algebraic equations. As to history, that they would have 
studied in the reverse, beginning at our own times, and 
mounting upwards to the deluge. They would fain re- 
form all governments, making France a democratic state, 
with a geometrician as its legislator, to be governed en- 
tirely by geometricians who shall subject ail the operations 
of the new government to infinitesimal calculations. This 
republic would maintain a constant peace, and would be 
supported without an army." 

Posthumous Works oj Frederick II, vol. VI. 



It was above all things a primary object among the 
literati of that time, to depreciate the great men of the 
seventeenth century ; to, diminish the weight of their ex- 
ample and authority. Let us again hear the King of 
Prussia on this subject. Thus does he speak in his exa- 
mination of the System of Nature. . 

" It is a great error to believe that perfection is to be 
found in any thing human ; the imagination may form 
such chimeras to itself, but they will never be realized. 
In the number of centuries that the world has now en- 
dured, different nations have made experiments on all sorts 
of governments, but not one has been found that was not 
subject to some inconveniences* Of all the paradoxes 
which the would-be philosophers of our days maintain 
with so much self-complacency, that of decrying the great 
men of the last century appears to be what they have the 
most at heart. How can their reputations be increased 



ON THE POET GILBERT. 215 

by exaggerating the faults of a king, all whose faults were 
effaced by his splendour and greatness. The foibles of 
Louis XIV, are well known, these philosophers have not 
even the petty merit of having been the first to discover 
them. A prince who should reign only a week would 
doubtless be guilty of some errors, how many must be 
expected from a monarch who passed nearly sixty years 
of his life upon the throne." 

This passage is followed by a magnificent eulogium 
of Louis XIV, and Frederick often recurs to the same 
subject in his correspondence with M. d'Alembert. " Our 
poor century," he says, " is no less lamentably barren of 
great men, than of good works. Of the age of Louis 
XIV, which does honour to the human mind, nothing 
remains to us but the dregs, and soon not even that will 
be left." The eulogium of Louis the Great, from the 
pen of the Great Frederick, — a King of Prussia defend- 
ing French glory against French literati, is one of those 
precious strokes at which a writer ought to catch very 
eagerly. 

I have already remarked, that if M. Gilbert had only 
attacked the sophists, he might have been suspected of 
partiality ; but he equally raised his voice against every 
vicious character, whatever might be his rank and power. 
Without any idea or apprehension of doing injury to re- 
ligion, he abandoned to contempt those ecclesiastics who 
are the eternal shame of their order. 

Religion, matron driven to despair, 
By her own children mangled and defaced :— - 
Weeping their ways, in her deserted temples, 
In vain with words of pardon does she stretch 
Her arms toward them, still reviled, derided, 
Her precepts are forgot, her laws profaned^ 
See there, amid a circle of gay nymphs, 
That youthful Abbe ;r—saintly in his garb, 
In mind a sophist he directs his wit 
Against that God, by serving* whom he lives. 



216 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS. 

I do not think that a more despicable character ex- 
ists, than that of a priest who, considering Christianity as 
an abuse, yet consents to feed on the bread of the altar, 
and lies at once to God and to man. But we would fain 
enjoy the honours of philosophy without losing the riches 
of religion ; the first being necessary to our self-love, the 
second to our manners. 

Such was the deplorable success which infidelity had 
obtained, that it was not uncommon to hear a sermon 
in which the name of Jesus Christ was avoided by the 
preacher as a rock on which he feared to split. And 
what was so ridiculous and so fatal in this name to a 
christian orator ? — Dip! Bossuet find that this name de- 
tracted from his eloquence ?— You preach before the poor, 
and you dare not name Jesus Christ !— before the unfor- 
tunate, and the name of their father must not pass your 
lips ! — before children, and you cannot instruct them 
that it was he who blessed their innocence. You talk 
of morality, and you blush to name the author of that 
which is preached in the gospel ! never can the affecting 
precepts of religion be supplied by the common-place 
maxims of philosophy. Religion is a sentiment, philo- 
sophy an essay of reason, and even supposing that both 
led to practising the same virtues it would always be 
safest to take the first. But a still stronger consideration 
is, that all the virtues of philosophy are accessible to re- 
ligion, while many of the religious virtues are not acces- 
sible to philosophy. Was it philosophy that established 
itself on the summit of the Alps to rescue the traveller ? 
— It is philosophy that succours the slave afflicted with 
the plague in the bagnios of Constantinople, or that exiles, 
itself in the deserts of the New World, to instruct and 
civilize the savages. Philosophy may carry its sacrifices 
so far as to afford assistance to the sick, but in applying 
the remedy it turns away its eyes ; the heart and the 



ON THE POET GILBERT. 217 

senses recoil, for such are the emotions of nature. But 
see religion, how it soothes the infirm, with what tender- 
ness it contemplates those disgusting wounds, — it dis-' 
covers an ineffable beauty, an immortal life in those dy- 
ing features, where philosophy can see nothing but the 
hideousness of death. There is the same difference be- 
tween the services that philosophy and religion render to 
human nature as exists between duty and love. 

To justify M. Gilbert for having defended Christiani- 
ty, I cannot rest too much on the authority of the great 
king whom I have so often cited in this article. The 
philosophers themselves considered him as a philosopher, 
and certainly he cannot be accused of harbouring any re- 
ligious superstitions ; but he had a long habit of govern- 
ing men, and he knew that the mass could not be led with 
the abstract principles of metaphysics* In pursuing his 
refutation of the System of Nature > he says : " How can 
the author pretend to maintain, with any face of truth, that 
the christian religion is the cause of all the misfortunes of 
human nature. To speak with justice, he should have 
.said, simply, that the ambition and interests of mankind 
make use of this religion as a pretence to disturb the peace 
of the world, and to satisfy their own passions. What 
objection can seriously be made against the system of 
morality contained in the decalogue ? — Did the gospel 
contain no other precept but this one : Do not to others 
what you would not that they should do to ydu t we should 
be obliged to confess that these few words contain the 
very quintessence of all morality. Besides, were not cha- 
rity and humanity, with the pardon of offences, preached 
by Jesus in his excellent sermon on the mount ? — The 
<aw itself must not be confounded with the abuses of it, 
the things inculcated, with the things practised." 

Ripened by age and experience, perhaps warned by 
that voice which speaks from the tomb, Frederick, to- 

Ee 



218 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS. 

wards the close of his life, had shaken off those vain sys- 
tems which lead to nothing but errors. He began to feel 
the foundations of society tremble under him, and to dis- 
cover the deep mine that atheism was silently hollowing 
out. Religion is made more especially for those who are 
the most elevated above their fellow creatures. It is sta- 
tioned around thrones, like those vulnerary herbs which 
grow about the mountains of Switzerland, there where 
falls the most terrible are likely to be encountered. 

It is probable that the two satires of M. Gilbert, and 
some stanzas of his odes will retain a place among our li- 
terature. This young poet, who died before his talents 
were matured, has neither the grace and lightness of Ho- 
race, nor the beautiful poetry and exquisite taste of Boi- 
leau. He tortures his language, he seeks after inversion, 
he drives on his metaphors too far, his talents are caprici- 
ous and his muse fanciful, but he has forcible modes of 
expression, verses well constructed, and sometimes the 
vein of Juvenal. Thanks to the re-establishment of our 
temples in France, we have no occasion for new Gilberts 
to sing the woes of religion, we require poets to chaunt 
her triumphs. Already some of our most distinguished 
literati, Messrs. Delille, Laharpe, Fontanes, Bernardin de 
St. Pierre, and others have consecrated their meditations 
to religious subjects. A new defender, M. de Bonald, 
has arisen, who, by the depth of his ideas and the power 
of reasonings*, has abundantly justified the lofty and all-see- 
ing wisdom of the christian institutions. Every one 
among our youth who gives any promise of talent, returns 
to those sacred principles which made Quintiiian say : 
"If thou believest, thou shalt soon be instructed in the 
duties of a good and happy life." Brevis est institutio 
vitc y honesta bcataque, si credos. 



219 



ANALYSIS 

QF THE WORK OF M. DE BONALD 

Entitled: "Primitive Legislation considered in the 
latter times by the light of reason alone" 



" FEW men are born with that particular and decided 
disposition towards one only object which we call talent ; 
a blessing of nature, if favorable circumstances assist its 
developement, and permit the exercise of it ; a real mis- 
fortune, a torment to its possessor, if it be contradicted." 

This passage is taken from the book we are about to 
examine. Nothing is more affecting than those involun- 
tary complaints which sometimes escape from true talent. 
The author of Primitive Legislation, like many other ce- 
lebrated writers, seems only to have received gifts from 
nature to feel disgust at them. Like Epictetus he has 
been obliged to reduce his philosophy to these maxims 
anechou kai apechou, suffer and abstain. It was in the 
obscure cottage of a German peasant, in the bosom of a 
foreign country that he composed his Theory of Political 
and Religious power, a work suppressed by the Directory 
in France; it was in the midst of all possible privations, 
and menaced with the law of the proscription, that he pub- 
lished his Observations upon Divorce, an admirable treatise^ 
the latter pages of which, in particular, are a model of 
that eloquence of thought which is so superior to the elo~ 
juence of words, and which subdues every thing, as 
Pascal says, by the right of power. In fine, it is at the 



220 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS. 

moment when he is about to quit Paris, letters and his 
genius, if I may be allowed the expression, that he gives 
us his Primitive Legislation ; Plato crowned his works 
by his Laws, and Lycurgus banished himself from Sparta 
after having established his. Unfortunately, we have not, 
like the Spartans, sworn to observe the laws of our new 
legislator. But let M. de Bonald be satisfied ; when, 
as in him, the authority of good morals is combined with 
the authority of genius, when the soul is free from those 
weaknesses, which place arms in the hands of calumny, 
and console mediocrity, obstacles must vanish sooner or 
later, and we must arrive at that position in which talent 
is no longer a mortification, but a blessing. 

The judgments generally passed upon our modern 
literature, appear to me somewhat exaggerated. Some 
mistake our scientific jargon, and inflated phraseology for 
the progress of genius and illumination ; according to 
them language and reason have advanced much since 
Bossuet and Racine: — but what advance! — Others on 
the contrary find nothing that is endurable ; if they are to 
be believed we have not a single good writer. Is it not 
a tolerably well established truth, that there have been 
epochs in France when the state of literature was very 
much below what it is at present ? Are we competent 
judges in such a cause, and can we very justly appreci- 
ate those writers who live in the same time with ourselves ? 
Such, or such a cotemporary author whose, value we 
scarcely feel, may be one day considered as the glory of 
our age. How long have the great men of Louis XIV 
found their true level ? Racine and La Bruyere were al- 
most unknown while they lived. We see Rollin, that 
writer full of learning and taste, balance the merits of 
Flechier and Bossuet and give us plainly to understand 
that the preference was generally given to the former. 
The mania of all ages has been to complain of the scarcity 



M. DE BONALD, 221 

of good writers and good books. What tilings have not 
been written against Telemachus, against the Characters 
of La Bruyere, against the most sublime of Racine"c ; 
works ? Who does not know the epigram upon Athalia ? 
On the other hand, let any one read the journals of the 
last century ; let them farther read what La Bruyere and 
Voltaire themselves said of the literature of their times ; 
will it be believed that they speak of the period when the 
country could boast a Fenelon, a Bossuet, a Pascal, a 
Boileau, a Racine, a Moliere, a La Fontaine, a Jean- 
Jacques Rousseau, a Buffon, a Montesquieu? 

French literature is about to assume an entirely nfcw 
face ; with the revolution, other thoughts, other views of 
men and of things must have arisen. It is easy to see 
that writers will be divided into two classes ; some will 
make it their great endeavour entirely to quit the ancient 
routes, others will no less assiduously endeavour to fol- 
low those models, but always presenting them under a 
new point of view. It is very probable that the latter 
will, in the end, triumph over their adversaries, because, 
in upholding their own labours by great authorities, they 
will have much safer and abler guides, documents much 
more fertile in themselves, than those who would rest 
upon their own talents alone. 

M. de Bonald will contribute not a little to this vic- 
tory ; already his ideas begin to obtain a currency ; frag- 
ments of them are to be traced in the greater part of the 
journals and publications of the day. There are certain 
sentiments and certain styles, which may be almost called 
contagious, and which, if I may be pardoned the idea, 
tint all minds with their colouring. This is, at the same 
time, a good and an evil. An evil inasmuch as it dis- 
gusts the writer whose freshness is thus, as it were faded, 
and whose originality is rendered vulgar; — a good, in as 
far as it tends to circulate useful truths mere widelv. 



222 ESSAYS ON VARIOU.S SUBJECTS. 

M. de Bonald's new work is divided into four parts. 
The first including the preliminary discourse, treats of 
the relations of beings to each other, and the fundamental 
principles of legislation. The second considers the an- 
cient state of the ecclesiastical ministry in France. The 
third treats of public education, and the fourth examines 
the state of christian and mahometan Europe. 

To remount to the Principles of Legislation, M. de 
Bonaid begins by remounting to the Principles of Beings, 
in order to find th,e primitive law, the eternal example 
of human laws ; for human laws are only good or bad, 
inasmuch as they approach or deviate from that divine 
Jaw which flows from divine wisdom. Lex rerum om- 
nium principem expressa natara, ad quam leges hominum 
diriguntur, quae supplicio improbos officiunt, et defendunf 
ct tuentur bonos.* Our author traces rapidly the history 
of philosophy, which, according to him, among the an- 
cients, signified the love of wisdom, and among us signi- 
fies a search ajter truth. Thus the Greeks made wis- 
dom consist in the practice of morality, we make it con- 
sist in the theory. " Our philosophy," says M. de Bo- 
naid, " is empty in its thoughts, lofty in its language ; it 
combines the licentiousness of the Epicureans with the 
pride of the Stoics. It has its sceptics, its pyrrhonians, 
its electics ; the only doctrine it has not embraced is that 
of privations." 

On the cause of our errors, M . de Bonaid makes the 
following profound remark : "In physics we may be al- 
lowed to assume particular errors, in morals we ought to 
assume general truths. It is from having done the contra- 
ry, from having assumed truths in physics, that mankind 
believed so long in the absurd system of physics esta- 
blished by the ancients ; as it is from having assumed 
errors in the general morals of nations that so many per- 
sons,. in our days, have been wrecked." 



* Cicero rlc Lc£. Tib. 2. 



U- VZ BONALD. 223 

The author is soon led to examine the problem of 
::mate ideas. Without embracing the opinion that rejects 
them, or ranging himself with the party that adopts them, 
he believes that God has given to men in general, not to 
every man in particular, a certain portion of principles 
or innate sentiments, such as the idea of a Supreme 
Being, of the immortality of the soul, and of the first no- 
tions of our moral duties, absolutely necessary to th e 
establishment of social order. Hence it happens, that, 
strictly speaking, single persons may be found who ha vi- 
no knowledge of these principles, but that no society of 
men was ever found totally ignorant of them. If this be 
not the truth, at least we must allow that the mind ca- 
pable of reasoning thus is not one of an ordinary tex- 
ture. 

From thence M. de Bonald passes to the examination 
of another principle on which he founds all legislation, 
This is, that speech was taught to man, that it is not an 
Intuitive quality in him* He recognizes three sorts of 
speech, gesticulation, oral communication, and writing. 
This opinion he founds upon reasons which appear to have 
great weight. First, because it is necessary to think of 
the words before the thought can be uttered. Secondly, 
because those who are born deaf, and never hear speech, 
are dumb, a proof that speech is a thing acquired, not in 
tuitive. Thirdly, because, if speech be a human inven- 
tion, there are no longer any necessary truths. 

To this idea M. de Bonald recurs very frequently : 
because, according to him, on this rests all the controver- 
sy of theists and atheists with christians and philosopers. 
In fact, it must be allowed, that if we could prove speech 
to have been revealed, not invented, we should have a 
physical proof of the existence of God: God could not 
have given speech to man without also giving him rules 
and laws : all would then becjme positive in society,, 



224 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS. 

This seems to us to have been the opinion of Plato, and of 
the Roman philosopher. Legem neque hominum ihgeniis, 
ex-cognitatum neque scitum aliquod esse populorum, sed 
(xternum quiddam y etc. 

It became necessary for M. de Bonald to develop 
his idea more fully, and this he has done in an excellent 
dissertation, at the end of his work. We there find this 
comparison which one might believe translated from the 
Phcedon, or from The Republic. " That necessary and 
natural correspondence between the thoughts, and the 
words by which they are explained, and that necessity of 
speech to render present to the mind its own thoughts, 
;\nd the thoughts of others, may be rendered sensible by 
a comparison, the extreme exactness of which would 
alone prove a perfect analogy between the laws of our in- 
tellectual nature, and of our physical nature. 

" If I am in a dark place I have no ocular vision or 
knowledge by sight of the existence of bodies that are 
near me, not even of my own body ; and under this re- 
lation these beings are the same to me as if they did not 
exist. But if the light is admitted, on a sudden all the 
objects receive a relative colour, according to the particu- 
lar contexture of the surface. Each body is present to 
my eyes, I see them all, I judge the relations of form, of 
extent, of the distance of every object from the other, and 
from myself. 

" Our understanding is this dark place where we do 
not perceive any idea, not even that of our own intelli- 
gence, till words penetrating by the sense of hearing and 
seeing, carry light into that darkness, and call, if I may 
say so, every idea, which answers, like the stars in Job, 
here I am. Then alone are our ideas explained, we have 
the consciousness, the knowledge of our thoughts, and 
can convey it to others ; then only have we an idea of our- 
selves, have we an idea of other beings, and the relations 



U. DE B0NALD, 225 

they have among themselves and with us. As the eye 
distinguishes each body by its colour, the mind distin- 
guishes each idea by its expressions." 

Do we often find reasoning so powerful, combined 
with such vivacity of expression ? The ideas answering 
to speech like the stars of Job, here i am ; is not this 
of an order of thoughts extremely elevated, of a character 
of style very rare? I appeal to men of better talents and 
understanding than myself : Quantum eloquentia vateat, 
pluvibus credere potest. 

Yet we will venture to propose some doubts to our 
author, and submit our observations to his superior judg- 
ment. We acknowledge, like him, the principle of the 
transmission of speech, or that it has been taught to us* 
But does he not carry this principle too far ? In making 
it the only positive proof of the existence of God, and of 
the fundamental laws of society, does he not put the most 
important truths to the hazard, in case this sole proof 
should be disputed. The reasoning that he draws from 
the deaf and dumb, in favour of speech being taught, is 
not perhaps thoroughly conclusive. It may be said, you 
take your example in an exception, and you seek your 
proof in an imperfection of nature. Let us suppose a 
savage in possession of his senses, but not having speech ; 
this man, pressed by hunger, meets in the forest with 
some object proper to satisfy it, he utters a cry of joy at 
seeing it, or at carrying it to his mouth. Is it not possi- 
ble that having heard the cry, the sound, be it what it 
may, he retains it, and repeats it after wards, every time 
he perceives the same object, or is pressed with the same 
want. The cry will become the first word of his voca- 
bulary, and thus he will proceed on till he arrives at the 
expression of ideas purely intellectual. 

It is certain that the idea cannot be put forth from the 
understanding without words, but it will perhaps be ad- 



226 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS. 

mitted, that man, with the permission of God, lights up 
himself this torch of speech, which is to illuminate the 
soul ; that the sentiment or idea first gives occasion to 
the expression, and that the expression in its turn re-en- 
!ers and enlightens the mind. If the author should say 
that millions of years v/ould be requisite to form a lan- 
guage in this way, and that Jean- Jaques Rousseau himself, 
believed that speech was necessary for the invention of 
words, we will admit this difficulty also. But M. de 
Bonald must not forget that he has to do with men who 
deny all tradition, and who dispose at their pleasure of 
the eternity of the world. 

There is, besides, a more serious objection. If words 
be necessary for the manifestation of the idea, and that 
speech enters by the senses, the soul in another life, des- 
poiled of the bodily organs, cannot have the conscious- 
ness of its thoughts. There will in that case be but one 
resource remaining, which is, to say that God then en- 
lightens with his own words, and that the soul sees its 
ideas in the divinity. This is to return to the system of 
Mallebranche. , 

Minds of deep reflection will like to see how M. dc 
Bonald unrolls the vast picture of social order, how he 
follows and defines the civil, political, and religious ad- 
ministration. He proves, convincingly, that the Christian 
religion has completed man, as the supreme legislator 
said in yielding up the ghost : all is finished. 

M. de Bonald gives a singular elevation, and an kn» 
mense depth to Christianity ; he follows the mystical re* 
lations of the PFordrnd the Son, and shews that the true 
God could not be known but by the revelation, or incar 
nation of his Word, as the faculty of thought in man is 
only ' manifested by speech or the incarnation of the 
thought. Hobbes, in his Christian City, explained the 

I'd as the author of the legislation, hit est anient o novo 



U. DE BONALD. 227 

grace scripto verbum dei cozpe ponitur fnon pro eo, quod 
loquuntus est DeusJ sed pro eo quod de Deo et de regno 
ejus.— In hoc autem sensa idem significant logos Theou. 

Our author makes an essential difference between the 
constitution of domestic society, or the order of a family, 
and the political constitution ; relations which, in out 
times, have been too much confounded together. In the 
examination of the ancient ecclesiastical ministry in 
France, he shews a profound knowledge of our history, 
He examines the principle of the sovereignty of the 
people, which Bossuet had attacked in his fifth notice, in 
answer to M. Jurieu. " Where every thing is independ- 
ent, says the Bishop of Meaux, there is nothing sove- 
reign.' ' A thundering axiom, a manner of arguing pre* 
cisely, such as the protestant ministers required, who 
prided themselves, above all things, on their reasoning 
and their logic. They complained of being crushed, by 
the eloquence of Bossuet, and the orator immediately 
put aside eloquence ; like those christian warriors who, 
in the midst of a battle, seeing their adversaries without 
arms, threw their arms aside, that they might not obtain 
too easy a victory. Bossuet passing afterwards to the 
historical proofs, and shewing that the pretended social 
pact has never existed, makes it clear, as he says himself, 
that there is in the idea as much ignorance as words ; 
that if the people are the sovereign, they have an incon- 
testable right to change their constitution everyday, &c. 
This great man whom M. de Bonald, worthy to be his 
admirer, cites with so much complacency ; this great 
man establishes also the excellence of hereditary succes- 
sion. " It is for the benefit of the people/' says he, 
u that the government should feel perfectly at its ease, that 
it should be perpetuated by the same laws that perpetu- 
ate the human race, and should follow as it were, the marc!: 
of nature." 



228 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS. 

M. de Bonald reproduces to us this fund of good 
sense, and sometimes this simple grandeur of style. The 
ignorance and the bad faith into which our age has fallen, 
with respect to that of Louis XIV, is a subject of astonish- 
ment from which one recovers with difficulty. The 
writers of this age are thought to have wholly overlooked 
the principles of social order, and yet there is not a single 
question of importance, in political science, which Bossuet 
has not treated, whether in his Universal History, in his 
Politics, taken from the Scriptures, or in his controver- 
sies with the protestants. 

For the rest, if the first and second volumes of M. de 
Bonald's work be liable to some objections, the same can^ 
not be said of the third. The author there treats the 
subject of education with a superiority of intellect, a force 
of reasoning, and a clearsightedness that entitles him to 
the warmest eulogium. It is, indeed, in treating particu- 
lar questions of morals or politics that he excels. He 
spreads over them a fertilizing moderation, to use the 
fine expression of M. Daguesseau. I do not doubt that 
his Treatise on Education will attract the eyes of the great 
men in the state, as his Question of Divorce has fixed 
the attention of all men of the soundest minds in France. 

M. de Bonald's style might sometimes be more har- 
monious and less neglected. His thoughts are always 
brilliant and happily chosen ; but, I know not whether 
his mode of expressing them may not occasionally be 
somewhat too terse and familiar. These are, however, 
slight defects which will disappear with a little labour. 
Perhaps some better arrangement of his matter might also 
be desirable, and more clearness of his ideas ; great and 
elevated geniuses are apt not to have sufficient compas- 
sion for the weakness of their readers ; 'tis a natural abuse 
of power. Farther, the distinctions he makes, appear 
sometimes too ingenious, too subtile. Like Montesquieu, 



he is fond of supporting an important truth upon a slight 
reason. The definition of the word, the explanation of an 
etymology, are things too curious and too arbitrary to be 
advanced in support of an importat principle. 

These criticisms are, however, rather offered in com- 
pliance with the miserable custom which requires, that 
criticism should always follow in the train of eulogium. 
Heaven forbid that we should scrutinize with toojnice an 
eye, some trifling defects in the writings of so very superi- 
or a man as M. de Bonald. As we do net set ourselves up 
for authority, we may have permission to admire with the 
vulgar, and we will avail ourselves amply of this privilege 
in favour of the author of Primitive Legislation. Happy 
the state that possesses such citizens ; men whom the 
injustice of fortune cannot discourage, who will fight for 
the sake of doing good alone, though without any hope of 
conquering. 

At the very moment when I write these words, 1 de- 
scend one of the greatest rivers in France ; on two oppo- 
site mountains rise two towers in ruins ; on the tops of 
these towers little bells are suspended which are sounded 
by the mountaineers as we pass. This river, these moun* 
tains, these sounds, these gothic monuments, amuse for 
a moment the eyes and ears of the spectators and auditors, 
but no one thinks of stopping to go where the bells invite 
them. Thus, the men who at this day preach morals 
and religion, in vain, from the tops of their turrets give 
the signal to those who are led away by the torrent of the 
world. The traveller is astonished at the magnificence 
of the ruins, at the sweetness of the sounds that issue 
from them 3 at the sublimity of the recollections associated 
with them, but he does not suffer these emotions to arrest 
his course ; at the first bend of the river he loses sight of 
the objects, and all is forgotten. 

We may remark in history, that the greater part of the 



230 £SSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS, 

revolutions which have taken place among civilized na- 
tions, have been preceded by the same opinions and an- 
nounced by the same writings : Quid est quodfalturum? 
Ipsum quodfalturum est. Quintilian and Elian speak of 
that Archilochus who first ventured to publish the shame- 
ful history of his conscience in the face of the universe \ 
he flourished in Greece before the reform of Solon. Ac- 
cording to the report of Eschines, praco had completed 
a Treatise on Education, where taking man from his 
cradle, he conducted him step by step to the tomb. 
This recals to the mind the eloquent Jean- Jaques Rous- 
seau. 

The Cyropedia of Xenophon, a part of the Republic of 
Plato, and the first book of his Laws, may also be re- 
garded as fine treatises, more or less proper to form the 
hearts of the youth. Seneca, and above all the judicious 
Quintilian, placed on another theatre, in times more re- 
sembling our own, have left excellent lessons both to the 
masters and the scholars. Unhappily, from so many 
good writings on education, we have only borrowed the 
systematic part, precisely that which, being adapted to the 
manners of the ancients, cannot apply to our own. That 
fatal imitation w 7 hich we have carried to excess in every 
thing, has been the cause of many misfortunes, in 
naturalizing among us the murders and devastations of 
Sparta and of Athens. Without attaining the greatness 
of those celebrated cities, we have imitated the tyrants 
who, to embellish their country, transported thither the 
tombs and the ruins of Greece. If the fury for destroying 
every thing had not been the predominant character of 
this age, why should we have had occasion to seek sys- 
tems of education amid the spoils of antiquity. Have we 
not the institutions of Christianity ? That religion so ca- 
lumniated, to which we nevertheless owe the very arts by 
which we are fid, rescued our fathers from barbarian 



*. DE BONALD, 231 

darkness. With one hand the Benedictines guided the 
plough in Gaul, with the other they transcribed the 
poems of Homer ; and while the eletks of the communi- 
ty were occupied with the collection of ancient manu- 
scripts, the poorer brethren of these schools of piety in- 
structed the children of the people, gratis, in the first ru- 
diments of learning. They obeyed this Command of the 
book where we find-^.Von deo illi potestatem injuventute, 
et ne despieids clfgiatus itlius. 

Soon after appeared that celebrated society which gave 
Tasso to Italy, and Voltaire to France, and of which it 
might be truly said, that every member was a distinguish- 
ed man of letters. The Jesuit, a mathematician in Chi- 
na, the legislator in Paraguay, the antiquary in Egypt, 
the martyr in Canada, was in Europe the man of let- 
ters and polished manners, whose urbanity took from 
science that pedantry which never fails to disgust youth, 
Voltaire consulted the Fathers Por6e and Brumoy upon 
his tragedies : " Julius Cassar has been," said he, writing 
to M. de Cideville, " read before ten Jesuits ; they think 
of it as you do.'* The rivalship which was established 
for a moment between Port Royal, and the Society ', forc- 
ed this latter to watch more scrupulously over the morals 
established there, and the Provincial Letters completed 
the correction of the evil. The Jesuits were mild and 
tolerant, seeking only to render religion amiable through 
indulgence to our weaknesses, and were first led astray 
by this charitable design. Port Royal was inflexible and 
severe, like the prophet king who seemed emulous to 
equal the rigour of his penitence by the elevation of his 
genius. If the most tender of all the poets was educated 
in the school of the solitaries, the most austere of all 
preachers sprung up in the bosom of society. Bossuet 
and Boileau inclined towards the first ; Fenelon and La 
Fontaine towards the second ; Anacreon was silent before 
the Jamenisls, 



232 ESSAYS p.N VARIOUS SUBJECTS. 

Port Royal, sublime at its birth, changed and alter- 
ed on a sudden like those antique emblems which have 
only the head of an eagle : the Jesuits, on the contrary, 
maintained their ground and improved to the last mo- 
ment of their existence. The destruction of this order 
has been an irreparable injury to education and to litera- 
ture ; this is now allowed on all hands. But according 
to the affecting reflexion of an historian : Quis beneficorum 
servat memoriam? Aut quis ultam calamitosis deberi 
partam gratiam ? aut quando fortuna non mutant Jidem ? 

It was then under the age of Louis XIV, an age 
which gave birth to all the greatness of France, that the 
.system of education for the two sexes arrived at its high- 
est point of perfection. One cannot recal without admi- 
ration those times when we saw come forth from the 
christian schools, Racine, Montfaucon, Sevigne, La Fay- 
ette, Dacier ; the times when he who sung Antiope gave 
lessons to the wives, in which Fathers Hardouin and Jou- 
vanay explained sumblime antiquity ; — while the geniuses 
of Port Royal wrote for the higher classes of pupils, the 
great Bossuet charged himself with the catechisms of 
little children. 

Rollin soon appeared at the head of the university. 
This learned man whom, in modern times, some have 
been pleased to qualify as a college pedant, full of absur- 
dities and prejudices, is, nevertheless, one of the first 
French writers who spoke with encomium of an English 
philosopher : "I shall make great use of two modern 
authors," says he in his Treatise on Study ; " these are 
M. de Fenelon, Archbishop of Cambray, and the Eng- 
lish Mr. Locke, whose writings on Education are highly 
esteemed, and with good reason ; the latter has, however, 
some particular sentiments which I would not be thought 
to adopt. I know not, besides, whether he was well 
versed in the Greek tongue, and in the study of the 



M. DE BONALD, 233 

Belles- Lettrcs ; at least he does not appear to value them 
sufficiently." It is, in fact, to Mr. Locke's work that we 
must recur for the date of those systematic opinions whicr; 
tend to make all children the heroes of romance, or of 
philosophy. 

The Emilius, in which these opinions are unfortu- 
nately consecrated by great talents and sometimes by an 
all-commanding eloquence, is now considered as a prac- 
tical work. Under this point of view, there is scarcely 
an elementary book for infancy which is not to be prefer- 
red to it ; of this we seem at length to be sensible, and a 
celebrated woman* has, in these latter days, published 
precepts of education much more salutary and useful, A 
man, whose genius was ripened by the storms of the re- 
volution, has now put the finishing stroke to the overthrow 
of such principles of a false philosophy, and has com- 
pletely re-established education upon a moral and religi- 
ous basis. 

The third volume of the Primitive Legislation is con- 
secrated to this very important subject. M. de Bo~ 
nald begins by laying down as a principle that man is 
born weak and ignorant, but capable of learning. — " Very 
different," he says, " from the brute, man is born perfec- 
tible, the brute perfect." 

What then should man be taught ? — Every thing that 
is good ; that is to say, every thing necessary for the pre- 
servation of his being. And what are the general means 
to be employed for this preservation ? — society. How is 
this term, society, to be explained when thus applied ? — 
It is to be explained by those expressions of the general 
will, called laws. Laws are then the will whence result 
certain actions which are called our duties as members of 
society. Education, therefore, properly speaking, is m-> 
structioii in the laxvs and duties of society. 

* Madame de Genii?. 



234 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS. 

Man under religious and political relations beldngs te 
a domestic society , and a public society. There are, con- 
sequently, two systems to be followed in education- 
First, as domestic society is concerned, which follows the 
child into its paternal roof; this has for its end to form 
the man as a member of a family, and to instruct him in 
the elements of religion. Secondly, as it concerns public 
society which includes those branches of education re- 
ceived by the child in public establishments, the end of 
which is to form the man as a member of a community by 
instructing him in the relative political and religious du- 
ties which that station demands. 

Education in its principle ought to be essentially reli- 
gious. Here M. de Bonald combats with great strength 
the author of Emilius. To say that we ought not to in- 
stil any religious principles in infancy is one of the most 
fatal errors that philosophy ever advanced. The author 
of Primitive Legislation cites the dreadful example of 
seventy-five children, below fifteen years of age, brought 
before the police in the space of five months, for robberies 
and offences against good morals! The citizen Scipio 
Bex on, president of the tribunal of the first instance for 
the department of the Seine, to whom we are indebted for 
the knowledge of this fact, says, in his report, that more 
than half the pilferings which take place at Paris are com 
mitted by children. 

Public establishments, saysM. Necker in his Course 
of Religious Morals, ought always to secure to children 
elementary instruction in morals and religion. Indiffer- 
ence to this object will render those by whom such esta- 
blishments are regulated one day fearfully responsible for 
the wanderings that it may be necessary to punish. Will 
not their consciences be terrified at the reproach which 
may be made them by a young man brought before the 
criminal tribunal, and on the verge of receiving a rigorouc 



M. DE BONALD. 255 

sentence ? What, in effect, could be answered, if he were 
to say : " I have never been formed to virtue by any in- 
struction ; I was devoted to mercenary occupations, I 
was launched into the world before any one principle was 
inscribed in my heart, or engraved on my memory. 
They talked to me of liberty, of equality, never of my 
duties towards others, never of the religious authority 
tt T hich would have subjected me to these duties. I was 
left the child of nature, and you would judge me after 
laws composed for society. It was not by a sentence of 
death that I ought to have been instructed in the duties 
of life." Such is the terrible language which a young 
man might eventually hold in hearing his condemnation. 

In speaking of domestic education, M. de Boiiald, 
first of all, would have us reject those English, American* 
philosophic practices, invented by the spirit of systenx, 
and supported by fashion. " Light cloathing," says he> 
a bare head, a hard bed, sobriety, exercise, and privations , 
father than enjoyments ; in a word, almost always what 
costs the least, is what suits the best : nature does not 
employ so much expense, so many cares to raise up a 
frail edifice which is only to last an instant, which a breath 
may overthrow." 

He next recommends the re-establishment of corpora- 
tions : " Which," says he, " the government ought to 
consider as the domestic education of the lower class of 
people. These corporations, in which religion was forti- 
fied by the practices and regulations of the civil authority, 
had among other advantages, that of restraining by the 
somewhat severe duties of the masters, a rugged youth, 
whom necessity removed early from the paternal roof, and 
whose obscurity placed them out of the reach of the po- 
litical power." This is to see a great way into things, 
and to consider, as a legislator, what so many writers have 
only viewed as economists. 



236 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS. 

Passing on to public education, the author proves 
first, like Quintilian, the insufficiency of a private educa- 
tion, and the necessity of a general one. After speaking 
of the places where colleges ought to be established, and 
fixing the number of pupils that each college ought to 
contain, he examines the great question of the masters. 
Let him speak for himself. " Education must be perpe- 
tual, universal, uniform. It must then be carried on by 
a body, for in nothing but a body can we find perpetuity, 
generality, or uniformity. This body, for it must be on- 
ly one, charged with the public education, cannot be an 
entirely secular body, for where would be the tie that 
would assure the perpetuity, and consequently the unifor- 
mity. Would personal interest be this tie ? but seculars 
would have, or might have, families. They would then 
belong more to their families than to the state, more to 
their own children than to the children of others, would be 
more attached to their own personal interest than to the 
public interest ; the love of self, which some consider as 
the universal tie, is, and always will be the mortal enemy 
of the love of others. 

" If the public instructors be bachelors, although 
seculars, they can never form a body of themselves. 
Their fortuitous aggregation will only be a continued suc- 
cession of individuals, entering there to earn a livelihood, 
and quitting it for an establishment. And what father of 
a family would like to consign his children to the care of 
unmarried persons whose morals are not guaranteed by 
religious discipline. If they are married, how can the 
state assure to men charged with families, animated with 
just ambition to acquire a fortune, and more capable than 
any others of resigning themselves successfully to the ac- 
quisition of it, — how can the state, I say, assure to such 
men an establishment which shall restrain them effectually 
from ever looking to one more lucrative. If, from views 



M. DE BONALD. 237 

01 oeconomy, their wives and children are to live under 
the same roof with them, concord is impossible ; if they 
are permitted to live separately, the expenses must be in- 
calculable. \\ ell instructed men would not submit their 
minds to regulations which must follow an uniform rou- 
tine, to methods of instruction which would seem to them 
defective. Men, desirous of acquiring wealth, or men 
overwhelmed with wants, would think only of enriching 
themselves. Fathers of families would forget their public 
cares in their domestic aftections. The state can only be 
eertain of retaining, in their establishments for education, 
men, supposing them seculars, who are not fit for any 
Gther profession, persons of no character or respectability* 
Of this we may be easily convinced in calling to mind 
that some of the most active instruments in our disor- 
ders at Paris, were that class of laic instructors attached 
to the colleges, who, in their classical ideas saw the forum 
of Rome in the assemblies of the sections, and conceived 
themselves orators, charged with the destinies of the re- 
public, when they were only brawlers swoln with pride and 
vanity, and impatient to rise above their situations. It is 
essential then to have a body which cannot be dissolved ; 
a body, the members of which, shall by one common re- 
gulation make a sacrifice of their personal families. But 
what other power, except that of religion, what other en- 
gagements but those which she consecrates, can bind 
men to duties so austere, and induce them to make sacri- 
fices so painful.' * 

The vigorous dialectic of this passage will be remember- 
ed by every reader. M. de Bonald urges his argument 
in a manner which leaves no place of refuge to his adver- 
saries. The only thing that can be urged against his 
reasoning is, the example of the protestant universities ; 
but he may answer that the professors in these universities, 
although they are married, are Priests, or Ministers of 



238 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS. 

Religion; that the universities are christian foundations, 
the funds and revenues of which are independent of the 
government ; that after all, such are the disorders in these 
institutions, that discreet parents are often afraid of send- 
ing their children to them. All this changes the state of 
the question entirely, and even serves, in the last analysis, 
to confirm the reasoning of our author. 

M. de Bonaid, occupying himself only with laying 
down principles, neglects to give particular advice to the 
masters. This advice is to be found, however, in the 
writings of the good Rollin. The titles alone of his chap-, 
ters suffice to make this excellent man beloved. On the 
manner of exercising authority over children — on making 
ourselves loved and Jeared- —inconveniences and dangers of 
punishments — on talking reason to children — on piquing 
their honour — on making Use of 'praises, rewards, and ca- 
resses — on rendering study pleasing— on allowing children 
rest and recreation — on piety, religion, zeal for the safety 
oj children. Under this last title is a passage which can- 
not fail of affecting the readers almost to tears. 

" What is a christian master charged with the educa- 
tion of young people ? He is a man to whose hands Jesus 
Christ has consigned a certain number of children, whom 
he has purchased with his blood, for whom he has given 
his life, whom he inhabits as in his house, and in his tem- 
ple, whom he regards as his members, as his brethren, as 
his co heirs, of whom he would make so many kings and 
priests, who shall reign and serve God with him and by 
him to all eternity ; and he has confided to them this pre 
clous trust that they may preserve the inestimable trea- 
sure of innocence to them. What grandeur, what digni- 
ty does not so honourable a commission add to the func- 
tions of these masters." A good master ought to apply 
to himself these words which God made continually to 
resound in the ears of Moses, the conductor of hispeopK 



•If. VU BONALD. 239 

"Bear them in your bosom as a nurse is accustomed to 
bear her young child" 

From the masters, M. de Bonald passes on to the 
pupils* He would have them occupied principally in the 
study of ancient languages, which open to children the 
treasures of the past, and lead their minds and hearts to 
great recollections to the contemplation of great examples. 
He raises his voice against that philosophical education 
which says he, " in encumbering the memories of children 
with idle nomenclatures of minerals and plants, narrows the 
intellect." 

Well may any one be pleased at finding himself en- 
tertaining like sentiments and opinions with such a man 
as M. de Bonald. We have ourselves had the happiness 
of being one of the first to attack this dangerous mania of 
che present times.* No body can be more sensible than 
myself to the charms of Natural History, but what an 
abuse of the study do we not see at the present moment, 
both in the manner in which it is carried on, and in the 
consequences which some have drawn from it. Natural 
History, properly so called, cannot be, ought not to be, 
any thing but a series of pictures as in nature, M. de 
BufFon had a sovereign contempt for classification, which 
he called the scaffolding to arrive at science^ not science 
itself. Independently of the other dangers to which the 
study of the science exclusively leads, inasmuch as they 
have an immediate relation with the original vice of man, 
they cherish pride much more than letters do. Descartes 
believed, as we are informed by the learned author of his 
life, that it is dangerous to apply too earnestly to those 
superficial demonstrations which are much more frequently 
produced by chance tlian by industry and experience, 

* In my Recollections in England^ and in my Spirit of Chris- 
tianity. 



240 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS. 

His maxim was, that such application accustoms us in- 
sensibly not to make use of our reason, and exposes us 
to losing the road traced to us by its light. 

If you would teach Natural History to children, with- 
out narrowing their hearts and blighting their innocence, 
put into their hands M. de Luc's Commentary upon 
Genesis, or the work cited by M. Rollin in the book of 
Studies, entitled, Of Philosophy. Ah ! what sublime 
philosophy, how little resembling that of our days ; let us 
cite a passage by chance. 

" What architect has taught the birds to choose a firm 
place for their nests, and to build them upon a solid foun- 
dation ? What tender mother has counselled them to co- 
ver the bottom with soft and delicate materials, such as 
down or cotton, or if these materials fail, who suggested to 
them that ingenious charity which leads them to pluck 
with their beaks sufficient feathers from their own breasts 
to prepare a commodious cradle for their young ? — Is it 
for the birds, Oh Lord ! that you have united together so 
many miracles which they cannot know ? — Is it for men 
who do not think of them ? — Is it for the curious who 
content themselves with admiring without remounting to 
you ? — Is it not visible that your design was to recal us to 
you ; by such a spectacle to render your providence and 
your infinite wisdom sensible to us : to fill us with confi- 
dence in your goodness, extended so tenderly, even to the 
birds, two of which are not of more value than a farthing." 

There is perhaps but another book in the world, the 
Studies of Nature by M. Bernardin de St. Pierre, which 
offers pictures equally affecting, equally religious. The 
finest page of M. de Buffon does not equal the tender elo- 
quence of this christian emotion : Is it for the birds Oh 
Lord! &c. 

A stranger was a short time since in a company when 
the son of the house, a boy of seven or eight years old. 



M. DE BONALD. 



241 



was the theme of conversation, he was represented as a 
prodigy. A great noise was soon after heard, the doors 
were opened and the little doctor appeared, with his arms 
naked, his breast uncovered, and dressed like a monkey 
that was to be shewn at a fair. He entered with a bold 
and confident air, looking about him for admiration, and 
importuning every body present with his questions. He 
was placed upon a table in the midst of the company and 
interrogated : What is man ? " He is a mammiferous ani- 
mal who has four extremities, two of which terminate in 
hands." Are there any other animals of his class ? 
"Yes, the bat and the ape." The assembly uttered 
shouts of admiration, but the stranger turning towards us, 
said somewhat impatiently ; " If I had a child who said 
such things, in spite of his mother's tears, I should whip 
him till he had forgotten them." I cannot help recalling 
upon this occasion the words of Henry IV. " My love," 
said he one day to his wife, " you weep when I flog your 
son, but it is for his good, and the pain I give you at pre- 
sent will spare you one day much greater pain." 

These little naturalists who do not know a single word 
of their religion, or of their duties, are at the age of fifteen 
wholly insupportable. Already men, without being men, 
you see them drag about their pale faces and enervated bo- 
dies, among the circles at Paris, pronouncing their ipse 
dixit upon every thing with the most decided tone, giv- 
ing their opinions upon morals and upon politics, pro- 
nouncing on what is good and what is bad, judging the 
beauty of women, the goodness of books, the performance 
of actors and of dancers ; dancing with the most perfect 
admiration of themselves, piquing themselves upon being 
already renowned for their success with the ladies, and for 
die completion of this scene of mingled absurdity and hor- 
ror, having sometimes recourse to suicide. 

II b 



242 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS. 

Ah ! these are not the children of former times, whom 
rheir parents sent for home every Thursday from the coU 
lege. They were dressed simply and modestly, with 
their cloathes fastened decently. They advanced with 
timidity into the midst of the family circle, blushing when 
xhey were spoken to. casting down their eyes, saluting 
with an awkward and embarrassed air, but borrowing grace 
from their very simplicity and innocence. Yet the hearts 
of these poor children bounded with delight. What joy 
to them was a day thus passed under the paternal roof, in 
the midst of complaisance from the servants, of the em- 
braces of their friends, and the secret gifts of their mothers. 
If they were questioned with regard to their studies, they 
did not answer that man -was a mammiferous animal placed 
between the bat and the ape, for they were ignorant of 
these important truths, but they repeated what they had 
learnt from Bossuet or Fenelon, that God created man to 
love and serve him ; that man has an immortal soul, that 
he will be rewarded or punished in another life according 
to his good or bad actions here ; that children ought to 
respect their father and mother ; all those truths in short, 
taught by the catechism, and which put philosophy to the 
blush. This natural history of man was supported by 
some celebrated passages of Greek or Latin verses taken 
from Homer or Virgil, and these fine quotations from the 
great geniuses of antiquity were in perfect unison with the 
geniuses, not less ancient, of the authors of Telemachu$ f 
and the Universal History. 

But it is time to pass on to the general view of Primi- 
tive Legislation. The principles M. de Bonald lays down 
are : " That there is a supreme or general cause. This 
Supreme Being is God. His existence is more especial- 
ly proved by the gift of Speech which man could not have 
discovered of himself, which must have been taught him. 
The geacral cause, or God, has produced an effect equal 



, DE BONAL£, ^43 

\y general in the world ; which is man. These two terms, 
cause and effect, God and man, have a necessary interme- 
diate term, without which there could be no relations be* 
tween them. This necessary medium term ought to be 
proportioned to the perfection of the cause, and the imper- 
fection of the effect. What is the medium then ? Where 
is it ? This, says the author, is the great enigma of the 
universe. It was announced to one people, it was intend- 
ed to be made known to others. At the destined period 
it was made known ; therefore, till that time the true rela- 
tions of man with God were not known, because all be- 
ings are only known by their relations, and no medium 
terms or relations existed between God and man. Thus 
a true knowledge of God and man, and their natural rela^ 
iions to each other must arrive ; there must necessarily 
be good laws, because laws are the expression of natural 
relations ; civilization, therefore^ must necessarily follow 
the notion of a mediator, and barbarism the ignorance of 
a mediator ; civilization, consequently began among the 
Jews, and was completed among the Christians ; the Pa 
gans were all barbarians?* 

The sense in which the author intends the word barba- 
rians to be understood, must here be clearly defined. The 
arts, according to his ideas, do not constitute a civilized 
but a polished people ; he attaches the word civilization 
only to moral and political laws. We must feel, however, 
that this definition although admirably conceived, is lia- 
ble to many objections ; nor can it readily be admitted 
that a Turk of this day is more civilized than an Athenian 
of old, because he has a confused knowledge of a mediator, 
Exclusive systems, which lead to great discoveries, must 
inevitably have some weak parts, and be liable to some 
dangers. 

The three primitive terms being established, M. dc 
Bonald applies them to the social or moral world, because 



244 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS. 

these three terms include, in effect, the order of the uni- 
verse. The cause, the means, and the effect become then, 
for society, the governing power, the ecclesiastical minis- 
try, and the subject. " Society," he says, " is religious 
or political, domestic or public. The purely domestic 
state of religious society is called Natural Religion, — the 
purely domestic state of political society is called a family. 
The completion of religious society was the leading man- 
kind first to the theism or national religion of the Jews, 
and from thence to the general religion of the Christians. 
Political society was carried to perfection in Europe, when 
men were led from the domestic state to the public state, 
and when those civilized communities were established 
which arose out of Christianity. 

The reader must perceive that he has here quitted the 
systematic part of M. de Bonald's work, and that he en- 
ters upon a series of principles perfectly new, and most 
fertile in matter. In all particular modifications of socie- 
ty, the governing power wills its existence, consequently 
watches over its preservation ; the ministers of religion act 
in execution of the will of this governing power ; the sub- 
ject is the object of this will, and the end at which the ac* 
tion of the ministers aims. The power wills, it must 
therefore be one ; the ministers act, they must therefore be 
many. 

M. de Bonald thus arrives at the fundamental basis of 
his political system ; a basis which he has sought, as we 
see plainly, in the bosom of God himself. Monarchy, 
according to him, or unity of power, is the only govern- 
ment derived from the essence of things, and the sovereign- 
s/of the Omnipotent over nature. Every political form 
which deviates from this, carries us more or less back to 
the infancy of nations, or the barbarism of society. 

In the second book of his work, he shews the applica- 
ttbn of this principle to the particular stages of society. 



M. DE BONALB* 245 

in family or domestic society, he considers the different 
relations between masters and servants, between parents 
and children. In public society he contends that the pub- 
lic power ought to be like domestic power, committed to 
God alone, independent of men ; that is to say, that it 
should be a power of unity, masculine, perpetual ; for 
without unity, without perpetuity, without being mascu- 
line, there can be no true independence* The attributes 
of power, the state of peace and war, the code of laws arc 
examined by the author. In unison with his title, he re~ 
fers in all these things to the Elements of Legislation ; he 
feels the necessity of recurring to the most simple notions, 
when all principles have been overthrown in society. 

In treating of the ecclesiastical ministry, which follows 
the two books of principles, the author seeks to prove, by 
the history of modern times, particularly by that of France, 
the truth of the principles which he has advanced. " The 
Christian religion," he says, li in appearing to the world, 
called to its cradle shepherds and kings, and their ho- 
mage, the first it received, announced to the universe, that 
it came to regulate families and states, the private and the 
public man. 

" The combat began between idolatry and Christiani- 
ty ; it was bloody ; religion lost its most generous athle- 
toe, but it finally triumphed. Till then, confined to fami- 
ly or domestic society, it was now mingled with state con- 
cerns, it became a proprietor. To the little churches of 
Ephesus and Thessalonica succeeded the great churches 
of Gaul and Germany . The political state was combined 
with the religious state, or rather it was constituted natu- 
rally by it. The great monarchies of Europe were form- 
ed conjointly with the great churches ; the church had its 
chief, its ministers, its subjects or faithful ; the state had 
its chief, its ministers, its subjects. Division of jurisdic- 
tions, hierarchy in the functions, the nature of property. 



246 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS. 

even to its very denominations became, by degrees alike, 
in the religious ministry, and in the political ministry. 
The church was divided into metropolitans, diocesans, 
&c. : the state was divided into governments or duchies, 
districts or counties, &c. The church had its religious 
order, charged with the education of the people, and made 
the depositaries of science, the state had its military orders 
devoted to the defence of religion ; every where the state 
rose with the church, the dungeon by the side of the bell, 
the lord or the magistrate by the side of the priest ; the 
noble, or the defender of the state lived in the country, the 
votary of religion in the desert. But the first order of 
things soon changed, and the political and religious state 
of the country altered together. The towns increased in 
number and magnitude, and the nobles came to inhabit 
them, while at the same time the priests quitted their soli- 
tudes. Property was denaturalised, the invasions of the 
Normans commenced, changes were made in the reign- 
ing powers, the wars of the kings against their vassals oc- 
casioned a vast number of fiefs, the natural and exclu* 
sive property of the political orders, to pass into the hands 
of the clergy, while the nobles became possessed of the 
ecclesiastical tenths, the natural and exclusive property of 
»he clerical order. The duties for which they called, na- 
turally followed the property to which they were attached ; 
nobles appointed to ecclesiastical benefices, which were 
often rendered hereditary in the family ; the priest insti- 
tuted judges and raised soldiers, or even judged and 
fought himself; the spirit of each body was changed at 
the same time that the property was confounded. 

At length the epoch of the great religious revolution 
arrived. It was first prepared in the church by the inju- 
dicious institution of the mendicant orders which the court 
of Rome thought it prudent to establish in opposition to 
a rich and corrupt clergy. But these bodies soon became 



if. BE BONAL£. 247 

in a refined and witty nation like France, objects of sar- 
casm to the literati.* At the same time that Rome esta- 
blished its militia, the state founded its bodies of the like 
description. The crusades and the usurpations of the 
crown having impoverished the order of the nobles, it 
was necessary to have recourse to hired troops for the de- 
fence of the state. The military force, under Charles 
VII, passed over to the body of the people, or to soldiers 
who served for pay ; the judiciary force, under Francis I, 
passed over to the men of letters through the venality of 
the judiciary officers. The reformation of the church, 
proceeded in the same course with the innovations in the 
state. Simple citizens took the place of magistrates con- 
stituted for exercising the political functions ; simple re- 
ligionists usurped the religious functions from the priests. 
Luther attacked the sacerdotal order, Calvin replaced it 
in his own family. Popularism crept into the state, pres- 
byterianism into the church. The public ministry of the. 
church passed over to the people, till they at length arro- 
gated to themselves the sovereign power, when the two 
parallel and corresponding dogmas of the political demo- 
cracy, the one that the religious authority resides in the 
body of the faithful, the other that the political sovereign- 
ty is in the assembly of the citizens, were triumphantly 
proclaimed. 

* When the mendicant orders were first established in the 
church, could it be said that the French were then an elegant na- 
tion ? Does not the author, besides, forget the innumerable ser- 
vices these orders have rendered mankind ? The first literati who 
appeared at the revival of letters were far from turning the men- 
dicant orders into ridicule, for a great number of them were 
themselves of some religious order. The author seems here to 
confound the epochs ; but we allow it would have been good to 
diminish insensible the mendicant orders in proportion as the man- 
ners in France became more elegant and refined. 



248 ESSAYS O.lf VARIOUS SUBJECTS. 

From this change of principles arose a change of man- 
ners. The nobles abandoned the more sublime functions 
of judges to embrace the profession of arms alone. Mili- 
tary licentiousness soon began to relax the moral , ties, 
women began to influence the appointments to the public 
ministry of the church, luxury was introduced into the 
court and the towns, a nation of citizens supplanted a na- 
tion of husbandmen : wanting consequence they were 
ambitious of obtaining titles ; the nobles sold themselves, 
at the same time that the property of the church was put up 
to auction ; great names became extinct, the first families 
of the state sunk into poverty, the clergy lost their autho- 
rity and their consideration ; philosophy, finally, spring- 
ing up from this religious and political chaos, completed 
the overthrow of the shaken monarchy. 

This very remarkable passage is taken from M. de 
Bonald's Theory of political and religious power ', which 
was suppressed by the Directory, a very few copies only 
escaping into the world. Possibly some time or other 
the author may give a republication of this most important 
work, one very superior to the Primitive Legislation ; 
this latter may indeed be called in some sort only an ab- 
stract of it. Then will it be known whence are derived 
many ideas in political science which have been brought 
forwards by the writers of the present day, and which, 
since they have not thought proper to acknowledge the 
source whence they are derived, have been supposed 
wholly new. 

For the rest we have found every where, and we glory 
in it, in the work of M. de Bonald, a confirmation of the 
literary and religious principles which we announced in 
the Genius of Christianity. He even goes farther in some 
respects than we had done, for we did not find ourselves 
sufficiently authorized to say with him that we must at 
this day use the utmost circumspection not to be ridiculous 



U. DE SON-ALB-.. 249 

m speaking of mythology. We believe that a genius ? 
well-directed, may yet draw many treasures from this 
fruitful vine ; but we also think, and we were perhaps 
the first to advance it, that there are more sources for 
dramatic poetry in the Christian religion, than in the 
religion of -the ancients ; that the numberless conflicts of 
the passions necessarily resulting from a chaste and inflex- 
ible religion must compensate amply to the poet the loss 
of the mythological beauties. Although we should only 
have raised a doubt upon so important a literary question, 
upon a question decided in favour of fable by the highest 
authorities in letters, would not this be to have obtained a 
sort of victory.* 

M. de Bonald also condemns those timid minds who, 
from respect for religion, would willingly abandon religion 
itself to destruction. He expresses himself in nearly the 
same terms that we have done : " Even though these 
truths, so necessary to the preservation of social order, 
were disowned from one end of Europe to the other ; 
would it be necessary to justify ourselves to weak and 
timid minds, to souls full of terrors, that we dared to 
raise a corner of the veil which conceals these truths from 
superficial observers ? — and could there be christians so 

* Madame de Stael herself, in the preface to her novel of 
Delphine, makes some concession when she allows that religious 
ideas are favourable to the developement of genius ; yet she seems 
to have written this work for the purpose of combating these same 
ideas, and to prove that there is nothing more dry and harsh than 
Christianity, more tender than philosophy, It is for the public to 
pronounce whether she has attained her end, At least she has 
given new proofs of those distinguished talents and that brilliant 
imagination which we Were happy to recognise.. And although 
she endeavours to give currency to opinions which freeze and 
wither the heart, we feel throughout her work effusions of that 
kindness of soui which no systems of philosophy can extinguish, 
and of that generosity to which the unfortunate have never appeal- 
ed in vain. 

Is 



250 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS. 

weak in their faith as to think that they would be the less 
respected, in proportion as they were more known." 

Amidst the violent criticisms which have assailed us 
from the very first steps we ventured to take in the paths 
of literature, we must confess it is extremely flattering and 
consoling to us to see at this day our humble efforts 
sanctioned by an opinion so important as that of M. ck 
Bonald. We must, however, take the liberty of saying 
to him that in the ingenious comparison which he draws 
between our work and his own, he proves that he knows 
much better than ourselves how to use the weapons of 
imagination, and that if he does not employ them more 
frequently it is because he despises them. He is, not- 
withstanding any thing that may be urged to the contrary, 
the skilful architect of that temple of which we are only 
the unskilful decorator. 

It is much to be regretted, that M. de Bonald had not 
the time and fortune necessary for making one single 
work of those upon the Theory of Power, upon Divorce,, 
upon Primitive Legislation and his several Treatises upon 
political subjects. But Providence, who disposes of us 5 
has appointed M. de Bonald to other duties, and has de- 
manded of his heart the sacrifice of his genius. This 
man, endowed with talents so superior, with a modesty 
so rare, consecrates himself, at the present moment, to 
an unfortunate family, and paternal cares make him for- 
get the path of glory. The eulogium pronounced in the 
Scriptures, upon the patriarchs, may well be applied to 
him : Homines dvites in virtute, pulchritudinis studium 
habentes ; pacificates in domibus suis. 

The genius of M. de Bonald appears to us rather pro- 
found than elevated ; it delves more than it aspires. His 
mind is at once solid and acute ; his imagination is not 
always, like imaginations eminently poetic, led away by 
m ardent sentiment or a grand image, but it is always 



If. DE JBONALD. 231 

ingenious, and abounds with happy turns ; for this rea- 
son, we find in his writings more of calm than of motion, 
more of light than of heat. As to his sentiments, they 
everywhere breathe that true French honour, that probity, 
which formed the predominant characteristic in the writers 
of the age of Louis XIV. We feel that these writers 
discovered truthless by the power of their minds than by 
r.he integrity of their hearts. 

It is so seldom we have works like this to examine, 
that I trust I shall be pardoned the length to which the 
present article has run. When the luminaries which now 
shine around our literary horizon are gradually hiding 
themselves, and about to be extinguished, we rest with 
particular delight upon a new luminary which rises. All 
these men have grown old with glory in the republic of 
letters ; these writers, so long known, to whom we shall 
succeed, but whom we can never replace, have seen hap- 
pier days. They lived while a Buffon, a Montesquieu, 
a Voltaire still existed : Voltaire had known Boileau , 
Boileau had seen the great Corneille expire, and Corneillc, 
while a child, might have heard the last accents of MaL 
herbe. This fine chain of French genius is broken ; the 
revolution has hollowed out an abyss, which has for ever 
separated the future from the past. No medium generation 
has been formed between the writers who are no more 
and those who are to come. One man alone holds to a 
link of each chain, and stands in the midst of this barren 
interval. He, whom friendship dares not name, but 
whom a celebrated author, the oracle of taste and of cri^ 
ticism, has designated for his successor, will be easily re- 
cognized. In any case, if the writers of the new age, dis- 
persed by fearful storms, have not been able to nourish 
their genius at the sources of ancient authorities, if they 
have been obliged to draw from themselves ; if this be 
the case, yet have not solitude and adversity been great 



252 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS. 

schools to them ? Companions alike in misfortune 
friends before they were authors, may they never see re- 
vived among them those shameful jealousies, which have 
too often dishonoured an art so noble and consolatory. 
They have still much occasion for courage and union. 
The atmosphere of letters will for a long time be stormy. 
It was letters that nourished the revolution, and they will 
be the last asylum of revolutionary hatred. Haifa centu- 
ry will scarcely suffice to calm so much humbled vanity, 
so much wounded self-love. Who then can hope to see 
more serene days for the Muses ? Life is too short ; it 
resembles those courses in which the funeral games were 
celebrated among the ancients, at the end of which ap- 
peared a tomb. 

Esekephugon auon oson, &o. 

" On this side," said Nestor to Antilochus, " the 
trunk of an oak, despoiled of its branches, rises from the 
earth, two stones support it in a narrow way, it is an an- 
tique tomb, and the marked boundary of your course." 



253 



UPON M. MICHAUD'S POEM, 

The Spring of a Proscrlpu 



M. de Voltaire has said : 

Or sing your joys, or lay aside your songs. 
May we not say, with equal justice, 

Or sing your woes, or lay aside your songs. 

Condemned to death during the days of terror, oblig- 
ed to fly a second time, after the 18th of Fructidor, the 
author of this poem was received by some hospitable spi- 
rits in the mountains of Jura, and found, among the pic- 
tures presented by nature, at once subjects to console his 
mind and to cherish his regrets. 

When the hand of Providence removes us from inter- 
course with mankind, our eyes, less distracted, fix them- 
selves naturally upon the sublime spectacles which the 
creation presents to them, and we discover wonders, of 
which before we had no idea. From the bosom of our 
solitude we think upon the tempests of the world, as a 
man cast upon a desert island, from a feeling of secret 
melancholy, delights to contemplate the waves breaking 
upon the shore where he was wrecked. After the loss of 
our friends, if we do not sink under the weight of our 
griefs, the heart reposes upon itself, it forms the project of 
detaching itself from every other sentiment, to live only 



254 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS. 

upon its recollections. We are then less lit to mingie 
with society, but our sensibility is more alive. Let him 
who is borne down by sorrow bury himself amid the deep- 
est recesses of the forest, let him wander among their 
moving arches, let him climb mountains, whence he may 
behold immense tracts of country, whence the aun >may 
be seen rising from the bosom of the ocean, his grief ne- 
ver can stand against spectacles so sublime, Not that he 
will forget those he loved, for then would he fear to be 
consoled ; but the remembrance of his friends would min 
^le itself with the calm of the woods and of the heavens, 
he would still retain his grief, it would only be deprived 
of its bitterness. Happy they who love Nature, they will 
find her, and her alone> a friend in the day of adversity. 

These reflections were suggested by the work which 
we are about to examine. It is not the production of a 
poet who seeks the pomp and the perfection of the art, it 
is the effusion of a child of misfortune, who communes 
with himself, and who touches the lyre only to render the 
expression of his sorrows more harmonious ; it is a pro* 
scribed sufferer, who addresses his book like Ovid : " My 
book, thou wilt go to Rome, and go without me I Alas ! 
why is not thy master permitted to go thither himself? 
Go, but go without pomp or display, as suits the produc- 
tion of a banished poet." 

The work, divided into three cantos, opens with a de~ 
scription of the early fine days in the year. The author 
compares the tranquillity of the country with the terror 
which then prevailed in the towns, and paints the labou- 
rer's reception of 'a prescript. 

Ah l in those days of woe, if some lorn wret- 
Asefuge sought 'beneath his lonely roof, 
His cottage door, his kind and simple heart 
Flew open to receive him, while tne woods 
Hr-> guileless h?ndi '■:■■ <\ r>l?>nre<*, their discreet 



t6tU OF U* UlCUAVp. 255 

And sheltering boughs spread circling, to conceal 
From wicked eyes the joyous heart he'd made. 

Religion, persecuted in towns, finds also, in her turn, 
an asylum in the forests, although she has lost her altar* 
aria her temples. 

Sometimes the faithful, warnVd by holy zeal, 
Assemble in the hamlet, 'mid the gloom 
Of night, to pay their homage to that Power 
By whom they live, who with paternal care 
Protects them thus ; instead of sacred incense 
Offering the flow'rs of spring, the ardent vows 
Of upright souls, while echo to the woods 
Repeats their humble prayers. Ah ! \rhcre, alas * 
Are now their antique presby fry, that cross, 
Those bells that tower'd to heaven ?— monuments 
By our forefathers so rever'd, so cherishM 

These verses are easy and natural, the sentiments arc 
mild and pious, according with the objects to which they 
form, as it were, the background of the picture. Our 
churches give to our hamlets and towns a character singu- 
larly moral. The eyes of the traveller are first fixed upon 
the religious turret that encloses the bells, the sight of 
which awakens in the bosom a multitude of pious sentK 
ments and recollections. It is the funeral pyramid, be- 
neath which' rest the ashes of our forefathers ; but it is al» 
so the monument of joy, where the bell announces life to 
the faithful. It is there that the husband and wife ex- 
change their mutual vows, that Christians prostrate them- 
selves before the altar, the weak to entreat support from 
their God, the guilty to implore compassion from their 
God, the innocent to sing the goodness of their God. 
Does a landscape appear naked and barren of objects, let 
but the turret of a rustic church be added, every thing in 
m instant is animated, is alive ; the sweet ideas of the 



25S 



ESSAYS OKT VARIOUS SUBJECTS. 



pastor and his flock, of an asylum for the traveller, of alms 
for the pilgrim, of Christian hospitality and fraternity, are 
awakened in the mind, they ate seen on every side. , 

A country priest, menaced by the law which con- 
demned to death all of his class who were seen exercising 
their sacred functions, yet who would not abandon his 
flock, and who goes by night to comfort the labourer, 
was a picture which must naturally present itself to the 
mind of a proscribed poet. 

He wanders through the woods. O silent night, 
Veil with thy friendly shade his pious course ! 
If he must suffer still, O God support him ! 
a Tis a 'united hamlet's voire entreats thee. 
And you, false votaries of philosophy, 
Yet spare his virtues, and protect his life ! 
Escap'd from cruel chains, from dreary dungeons, 
He preaches pardon for the wrongs we suffer, 
Wiping the tears which trickle down the cheeks 
Of those that listen with delight around. 

It appeal's to us that this passage is full of simplicity 
and piety. Are we then much deceived in having main- 
tained that religion is favourable to poetry, and that in re- 
pressing our religious feelings we deprive ourselves of 
one of the most powerful mediums for touching the heart- 

The author, concealed in his retreat, apostrophizes the 
friends whom he scarcely hopes ever to see again. 

Thou shalt be heard no more, O sweet Delilc 
Thou rival and interpreter by turns 
Of the great Mantuan bard 



Nor thou, who by thy strains could charm our woes ; 
Thou Fontanes, whose voice consol'dthe tombs. 
Nor Morcllct, whose strong and nervous pen 
Pleaded the sufferer's cause 'gainst tyranny 
Suard, -who- emnlci-. :>r A.ddisOn, rombinV 



POEM OF M. MICHAUD. 257 

With learning, wit, with solid reason, grace ; 
Laharpe, whose taste could oracles explain, 
Sicard whose lessons verge to miracles ; 
Jussieu, Laplace, and virtuous Daubenton, 
Who taught us secrets to Buffon unknown— 
Ah ! never shall these eyes behold you more, 

These regrets are affecting, and the eulogiums pro- 
nounced by the author upon his friends have the rare me- 
rit of being in unison with the public opinion ; besides, 
this appears to us quite in the taste of the ancients. Is it 
not thus that the Latin poet, whom we have already cited, 
addresses his friends whom he has left at Rome ? " There 
is," says Ovid, " in our native country a something 
soothing, which attracts us, which charms us, which does 
not permit us to forget it. . . .You hope, dear Rufinus, 
that the chagrins which devour me will yield to the conso- 
lations you send me in my exile ; begin then, my friends, 
by being less amiable, that I may live without you with 
less pain." 

Alas ! in reading the name of M. de Laharpe, in the 
verses of M. Michaud, who can resist being deeply affect- 
ed. Scarcely have we found again those who were dear 
to us, than a longer, an ever-during separation, must se- 
ver us again. No one sees more clearly and more pain- 
fully than ourselves the whole extent of the misfortune 
which at this moment threatens learning and religion. 
We have seen M. de Laharpe cast down, like Hezekiah, 
by the hand of God. Nothing but the most lively faith, 
but the most sacred hope, can inspire a resignation so per- 
fect, a courage so great, thoughts so elevated and affect- 
ing, amid the pains of lingering agony, amid repeated ex- 
perience of the sufferings of death, 

Poets love to paint the sorrows of banishment, so fer- 
tile in sad and tender sentiments. They have sung Pa- 
troclus taking refuge under the roof of Achilles, Cadmus 

K k 



258 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS, 

abandoning the walls of Sidon, Tydaeus seeking an asylum 
with Adrastus, and Teucer sheltered in the island of 
Venus. The chorus in Jphigenia in Tauris fain would 
traverse the air : " I would pause in my flight over my 
paternal roof, I would see once more that spot so dear to 
my remembrance, where, under the eyes of a mother, I 
celebrated an innocent marriage. 1 ' Ah who does not see 
here the dulces moriens reminiscitur Argos ? who does 
not recur to Ulysses wandering far from his country, desir- 
ing, as his sole happiness, once more to see the smoke of 
his own palace. Mercury finds him sad and dejected, on 
the shores of the island of Calypso, contemplating, as he 
,heds tears, that sea so eternally agitated : 

Ponton eft atrugeton derkesketo dekra leibon* 

An admirable line, which Virgil has translated, applying 
it to the exiled Trojans : 

Cuncttzque firofundum 
Pontum asfiectabant jlentea, 

This Jlentes thrown to the end of the line is very fine* 
Ossian has painted with different colours, but which are 
also full of charms, a young woman dead far from her 
country in a foreign land. " There lovely Moina is often 
seen when the sun-beam darts on the rock, and all around 
is dark. There she is seen, Malvina, but not like the 
daughters of the hill. Her robes are from the stranger's 
land, and she is unknown." 

We may judge by the sweet lamentations which fall 
from the author of the poem under examination, that he 
deeply felt this mat du pays, this malady which attacks 
Frenchmen, above all others, when far from their own 
country. Monimia in the midst of the barbarians could 
not forget the sweet bosom of 'Greece \ Physicians have 



POEM OF M. MICHAUD. 259 

called this sadness of the soul nostalgy from two Greek 
words nostos return, and algos grief, because it is only 
to be cured by returning to the paternal roof. How in- 
deed could M. Michaud, who makes his lyre sigh so 
sweetly, avoid infusing sensibility into a subject which 
even Gresset could not sing without being melted. In 
the Ode of the latter upon the Love of our Country? 
we find this affecting passage : " Ah if in this melancholy 
course he should be overtaken by the last sleep, without 
seeing again that dear country in which the sun first 
beamed upon him, still his expiring tenderness prays that 
his sad remains may be deposited there. Less light 
would lie the earth of a foreign land upon his abandoned 
manes." 

In the midst of the sweet consolations which his re- 
treat affords to our exiled poet, he exclaims : 

O, lovely days of spring, O beauteous vales 
What work of art can with your charms compare ? 
Is all a Voltaire wrote worth one sole ray 
Of breaking down, or worth the smallest flow'r 
Op'd by the breath of Zephyr ? 

But does not M. de Voltaire, whose impieties we 
hold in as great detestation as M. Michaud can do, some^ 
times breathe sentiments worthy of admiration ?— Has 
not he too felt these sweet regrets for a lost country, " I 
write to you" he says to Madame Denis, " by the side of 
my stove, with a heavy head and a sad heart, casting my 
eyes over the river Sprey, because the Sprey flows into 
the Elbe, the Elbe into the sea, while the sea receives the 
Seine, and our house at Paris is near that river." 

It is said that a Frenchman, obliged to fly during the 
reign of terror, bought, with a fewdeniers, a bark upon 
the Rhine, where he lodged himself with a wife and two 
children . Not having any money there was no hospita 



260 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS. 

lity for him. When he was driven from one bank, he 
passed over without complaining to the other side, and 
often persecuted on both banks, he was obliged to cast 
anchor in the midst of the river. He eccupied himself 
in fishing for the subsistence of his family, but his fellow- 
creatures still disputed with him the succours offered by 
Providence, envying him even the little fish with which 
they saw him feed his children. At night he went on 
shore and collected a few dried plants to make a fire, 
when his wife remained in the utmost anxiety till his re- 
turn. This family who eould not be reproached with 
any thing except being unfortunate, found not, over the 
vast globe a spot of earth on which they could rest their 
heads. Obliged to pursue the lives of savages in the 
midst of four great civilized nations, their sole consolation 
was that in thus wandering about they were still in the 
neighbourhood of France, they could sometimes breathe 
the air which had passed over their country. 

M. Michaud wandered in this way over the moun- 
tains whence he could discern the tops of the trees in his 
beloved France ; but how could he pass away his time in 
a foreign land ? How were his days to be occupied ? 
Was knot natural that he should visit those rustic tombs 
where Christian souls had terminated their exile full of 
hope and joy. This was what he did, and, thanks to the 
season he chose, the asylum of death was changed to a 
lovely field covered with flowers. 

Perhaps beneath this grave with flowers o'ergrown 
A child of Phoebus rests, to him unknown. 

Thus the fair flow'r that grows on yon lone mount 
Its sweet perfumes, its brilliant hues alone 
Flings to the barren waste. Thus dazzling gold, 
Sovereign of metals, in the darkest caves 
That earth embosoms, hides its fatal charms* 



POEM OF M. MICHAUD. 2§1 

The author would perhaps have done better to follow 
more closely the English poet whom he intends to imitate. 
He has substituted the common image of gold deeply em- 
bowelled in the earth to that of a pearl hidden at the bot- 
tom oj the sea. The flower which only expands its 
colours to the barren waste ill explains the original turn of 
Gray, born to blush unseen. 

Full many a gem of purest ray serene 

The dark unfathom'd caves of ocean bear. 

Full many a flow'r is born to blush unseen 
And waste its sweetness in the desert air. 

The sight of these peaceful tombs recals to the poet 
the troubled sepulchres where slept our departed kings, 
which ought not to have been opened till the consumma- 
tion of all things, but a particular judgment of Provi- 
dence occasioned them to be broke into before their time. 
A frightful resurrection depopulated the funereal vaults of 
St. Dennis ; the phantoms of our kings quitted their eter- 
nal shade, but as if frightened at reappearing alone to the 
light, at not finding themselves, as the prophet says, in the 
ivorld -with all the dead, they repjunged again into the se- 
pulchre., 

And now these kings exhum'd by miscreant hands 
Have twice descended to the darksome tomb. 

From these fine lines it is evident that M. Michaud 
is capable, in his poetry, of taking any tone. 

It is somewhat remarkable that some of these spectres, 
blackened* by the grave, still retained such a resemblance 
of what they were when alive that they were easily recog- 
nized. The characters of their prevailing passions, even 

* The face of Louis XIV. was turned as black as ebony. ' 



262 ESSAYS OH VARIOUS SUBJECTS. 

the minutest shadings of the ideas by which they had 
been principally occupied, were to be discovered in their 
features. What then is that faculty of thought, in man, 
which leaves such strong impressions on the countenance 
even in the dust of annihilation ?— Since we speak of 
poetry let us be permitted to borrow the simile of a 
poet. Milton tells us that the Divine Son, after having 
accomplished the creation of the world rejoined hi: eter- 
nal principle, and that their route over created matter was 
for a long time discernible by a track of light ; thus the 
soul returning into the bosom of God leaves in the mor- 
tal body the glorious traces of its passage. 

M. Michaud is highly to be applauded for having 
made use of those contrasts which awaken the imagina- 
tion of the reader. The ancients often employed them 
in tragedy ; a chorus of soldiers keeps guard at the Tro- 
jan camp on the fatal night when Rhoesus has scarcely 
finished his course. In this critical moment do these 
soldiers talk of combats, do they retrace the images of 
terrible surprizes ? — Hear what the semi-chorus says : — 
" Listen ! those accents are the strains of Philomel who 
in a thousand varied tones deplores her misfortunes and 
her own vengeance. The bloody shores of Simois re- 
peat her plaintive accents. I hear the sound of the pipe, 
'tis the hour when the shepherds of Ida go forth, carrying 
their flocks to graze in the smiling vallies. A cloud 
comes over my weary eye-lids, a sweet langour seizes all 
my senses ; sleep shed over us, by the dawn, is most de- 
licious." 

Let us frankly acknowledge that we have no such 
things in our modern tragedies, however perfect they 
may otherwise be ; and let us be sufficiently just to con- 
fess that the barbarous Shakspeare has sometimes hit 
jpon a species of sentiment so natural, yet so rare, upon 
this simplicity in his imagery. The chorus above-cited 



POEM OF M. MICHAUD* 263 

in Euripides will naturally recal to the reader the dialogue 
in Romeo and Jjliet : "Is it the lark that sings 1 ' &c. 

But while those pastoral pictures which in softening 
terror increase pity, because as Fenelon says, they create a 
smih in a heart of anguish, are banished from the tragic 
scene, we have transported them with much success into 
works of another kind. The moderns have extended 
and enriched the domain of descriptive poetry. Of this 
M. Michaud himself furnishes some fine examples, 

On yon tall mountain tops, yet on the verge 

Of disappearing, day, still ling'ring, smiles 

Upon the flow'rs herself had bade expand.—- 

The river, following its majestic course, 

Reflects beneath its clear and glassy surface 

The dark hues of the woods that fringe its shores. 

Some feeble rays of light still pierce amid 

The thickly woven foliage, and illume 

The lofty turrets of the antique castle ; 

The slate reflecting these declining rays, 

The windows blazing to the dazzled sight 

At distance shew like fire. And hark, I hear 

From forth those bow'rs, sweet songstress of the spring* 

Thy strains, which seem more mellow to the ear 

*Mid evening's gloom ; and while the woods around 

Are vocal made by thee, the mute Arachne 

To the low bramble and aspiring oak 

Fastens her netted snares; meanwhile the quail, 

Like me a stranger in a foreign land, 

Pours through the listening fields her springy laySc 

Quitting his labyrinth, the imprudent rabbit 

Comes forth to meet the hunter who awaits him j. 

And the poor partridge, by the gloom encourag'd, 

From answering echoes asks her wander'd mate. 

This seems the proper place to advert to a reproach 
made us by M. Michaud in his preliminary discourse, 
where he combats, with no less taste than politeness, our 



264 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS. 

opinion of descriptive poetry. " The author of the Ge- 
nius of Christianity " says he, "ascribes the origin of 
descriptive poetry to the Christian religion, which, in de- 
stroying the charm attached to the mythological fables, has 
f educed the poets to seek the interest of their pictures in 
their truth and exactness" 

The author of the poem on Spring thinks that we are 
here mistaken. But, in the first place, we have not ascrib- 
ed the origin of descriptive poetry to the Christian reli- 
gion, we have only attributed to it the developement of 
this species of poetry ; which seems to me a very different 
thing. Moreover, we have been careful not to say that 
Christianity has destroyed the charm of the mythologi- 
cal fables ; we have endeavoured, on the contrary, to 
prove that every thing beautiful which is to be found in 
mythology, such, for example, as the moral allegories, may 
well be employed by a Christian poet, and that the true 
religion has only deprived the Muses of the minor, or dis- 
gusting fictions of paganism. And is the loss of the phy- 
sical allegories so much to be regretted ? What does it 
signify to us whether Jupiter means the aether, Juno the 
air, &c. 

But since M. de Fontanes, a critic whose judgments 
are laws, has thought that he also ought to combat our opi- 
nion upon the employment of mythology, let us be per- 
mitted to revert to the passage which has given occasion 
to this discussion. After showing that the ancients were 
scarcely acquainted with descriptive poetry, in the sense 
which we attach to this term ; after having shown that 
neither their poets, their philosophers, their naturalists, nor 
their historians have given descriptions of nature, I add : 
" We cannot suspect men endowed with the sensibility of 
the ancients to have wanted eyes to discern the beauties 
of nature, or talents to paint them. Some powerful cause 
must then have blinded their eyes. Now this cause wa c > 



POEM OF M. MICHAUD. £65 

their mythology ; which, peopling the earth with elegant 
phantoms, took from the creation its solemnity, its gran- 
deur, its solitude, and its melancholy. It was necessary 
that Christianity should chase ail this people of fauns, of 
satyrs, of nymphs, to restore to the grottoes their silence, 
to the woods their disposition to excite meditation. The 
deserts have assumed, under our worship, a more sad, a 
more vague, a more sublime character. The domes of 
the forests are raised, the rivers have broken their petty 
urns, to pour out their waters, drawn from the summits 
of the mountains, only into the great deep. The true 
God, in being restored to his works, has given to nature 
his own immensity. 

" Sylvan s and Naiads may strike the imagination 
agreeably, provided always that we are not incessantly 
presented with them. We would not 

Of their empire o'er the sea 
Deprive the Tritons, take from Pan his flute, 
Or snatch their scissars from the fatal sisters. 

"But what does all this leave in the soul ? What re- 
sults from it to the heart ? What fruit can the thoughts 
derive from it ? How much more favoured is the Chris- 
tian poet, in the solitude where God walks with him ! free 
from this multitude of ridiculous deities, which surround- 
ed him on every side, the woods are filled with one im- 
mense Divinity. The gifts of wisdom and prophecy, 
the mysteries of religion, seem to reside eternally in their 
sacred recesses. Penetrate into the American forests, as 
ancient as the world itself/' &c &c. 

It appears to us, that the principle, as thus laid down, 
cannot be attacked fundamentally, though some disputes 
may be admitted as to the details. It may perhaps be 
asked j whether nothing fine is to be found in the ancient 

L! 



266 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS* 

allegories ? We have answered this question in the chap- 
ter where we distinguish two sorts of allegories, the moral 
and the physical. M. de Fontanes has urged that the an- 
cients equally knew this solitary and formidable deity who 
inhabits the woods. But have we not ourselves assented 
to this, in saying, u As to those unknown gods, whom 
the ancients placed in the deep woods and in the barren 
deserts, they undoubtedly produced a fine effect, but they 
formed no part of the mythological system ; the human 
mind here recurred to natural religion. What the trem- 
bling traveller adored in passing through these solitudes 
was something unknarvn, something the name of which he 
could not tell, whom he called the divinity of the place. 
Sometimes he addressed it by the name of Pan, and Pan 
we know was the universal god. The great emotions 
which wild nature inspires have never been without exist- 
ence, and the woods still preserve to us their formidable 
deity." 

The excellent critic whom we have already cited, 
maintains farther, that there have been Pagan people who 
were conversant with descriptive poetry. This is un- 
doubtedly true, and we have even availed ourselves of this 
circumstance to support our opinions, since the nations to 
whom the Gods qfpreece were unknown, had a glimmer- 
ing view of that beautiful and simple nature which was 
masked by the mythological system. 

It has been objected that the moderns have outraged 
descriptive poetry. Have we said any thing to the contra- 
ry ; let us be permitted to recur to our own words: 
* Perhaps it may here be objected, that the ancients were 
in the right to consider descriptive poetry as the accesso- 
ry part, not as the principal subject of the picture ; in this 
idea we concur, and think that in our days there is a great 
abuse of the descriptive. But abuse is not the thing 
itself, and it is not the less true, that descriptive poetry. 



POEM OF M. MICHAUD. 267 

such as we are accustomed to it at present, is an addition- 
al engine in the hands of the poet ; that it has extended 
the sphere of poetical imagery, without depriving us of 
painting the manners and the passions, such as those pic- 
tures existed for the ancients*" 

In short, M. Michaud thinks that the species of poe- 
try which we call descriptive, such as is fixed at this day, 
has only begun to be a species since the last century. But 
is this the essential part of the question ? Will that prove 
that descriptive poetry has emanated from the Christian 
religion alone. Is it, in fact, very certain that this species 
of poetry is properly to be considered as having had its 
rise only in the last century. In our chapter entitled, 
The historic part of Descriptive Poetry among the Mo* 
derns, we have traced the progress of this poetry ; we 
have seen it commence with the writings of the Fathers in 
the desert ; from thence spread itself into history, pass 
among the romance-writers and poets of the Lower Em- 
pire, soon mingle itself with the genius of the Moors, and 
attain under the pencils of Ariosto and Tasso, a species 
of perfection too remote from the truth. Our great wri- 
ters of the age of Louis XIV. rejected this sort of Italian 
descriptive poetry which celebrated nothing but roses, 
clear fountains and tufted woods. The English, in adopt = 
ing it, stripped it of its affectation, but carried into it ano- 
ther species of excess in overloading it with detail. At 
length returning into France, in the last century, it grew 
to perfection under the pens of Messrs. Delille, St. Lam- 
bert, and Fontaine, and acquired in the prose of Messrs. 
de Buffon and Bernardin de St. Pierre, a beauty unknown 
to it before. 

We do not pronounce this judgment from ourselves 
alone, for our own opinion is of too little weight, we have 
not even like Chaulieu, for the morrow, 



268 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS* 

A little knowledge and a deal of hope, 

but we appeal to M. Michaud himself. Would he have 
dispersed over his verses so many agreeable descriptions 
of nature, if Christianity had not disencumbered the woods 
of the ancient Dryads and the eternal Zephyrs? Has not 
the author of the Poem of Spring been deluded by his- 
own success ? He has made a delightful use of fable in 
bis Letters upon the Sentiment of Pity > and we know that 
Pygmalion adored the statue which his own hands had 
formed. " Psyche," says M. Michaud, " was desirous 
of seeing Love, she approached the fatal lamp and Love 
disappeared for ever. Psyche, signifies the soul in the 
Greek language, and the ancients intended to prove by 
the allegory that the soul finds its most tender sentiments 
vanish in proportion as it seeks to penetrate the object of 
them." This explanation is ingenious; but did the an- 
cients really see all this in the fable of Psyche ? We have 
endeavoured to prove that the charm of mystery in t|iose 
things which may be called the sentimental part of life is 
one of the benefits which we owe to the delicacy of our 
religion. If Pagan antiquity conceived the fable of Psy . 
che, it appears to us that it is here a Christian who inter- 
prets it. 

Still farther : Christianity, in banishing fable from na^ 
ture, has not only restored grandeur to the deserts, it has 
even introduced another species of mythology full of 
charms for the poet, in the personification of plants. 
When the Heliotrope was always Clytia, the mulberry- 
tree S^ways Thisbe, &c. the imagination of the poet was 
necessarily confined ; he could not animate nature by any 
other fictions than the consecrated fictions, without being 
guilty cf impiety ; but the modem muse transforms at its 
pleasure all the plants into nymphs without any injury to 
the angels and the celestial spirits which it may spread over 



POEM OF M. MICHAUD. 269 

the mountains, along the rivers, and in the forests. Un- 
doubtedly it is possible to carry this personification to ex- 
cess and M. Michaud has reason to ridicule the poet 
Darwin who in the Laves of the Plants, represents Gen- 
ista as walking tranquilly under the shade of arbours of 
myrtle. But if the English author be one of those poets of 
whom Horace speaks who are condemned to make verses* 
for having dishonoured the ashes of their fathers, that 
proves nothing as to the fundamental good or ill of the 
thing. Let another poet, endowed with more taste and 
judgment, describe the Loves of the Plants', they will offer 
only pleasing pictures. 

When in the chapters which M. Michaud attacks we 
have said ; "see in a profound calm, at the breaking of 
dawn, all the flowers of this valley ; immovable upon 
their stalks they incline themselves in a variety of attitudes* 
and seem to look towards every point in the horizon ; 
even at this moment when to you all appears tranquil, a 
great mystery is in operation, nature conceives, and these 
plants are so many young mothers turned towards the 
mysterious region whence they are to imbibe fecundity. 
The sylphs have sympathies less aerial, communications 
less invisible. The narcissus confides to the rivulet her 
virgin race, the violet trusts her modest posterity to the 
care of the Zephyr, a bee gathers honey from flower to 
flower, and without knowing it fertilizes a whole meadow, 
a butterfly carries an intire nation under her wing, a world 
descends in a drop of dew. All the Loves of the Plants 
are not however equally tranquil, some are tempestuous^ 
like those of mankind. Tempests are necessary to 
marry the cedar of Sinai upon inaccessible heights, while 
at the foot of the mountain the gentlest breeze suffices to 
establish art interchange of voluptuousness among the 
flowers. Is it not thus that the breath of the passions agi- 



270 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS. 

tates the kings of the earth on their thrones, while the 
shepherds live happily at their feet. 

This is very imperfect undoubtedly, but from this 
feeble essay it is easy to see how much might be made of 
such a subject by a skilful poet. 

It is indeed this relationship between animate and in- 
animate objects, which furnished one of the primary 
sources whence was derived the ancient mythology^ 
When man, yet wild, wandering among the woods had 
satisfied the first wants of life, he felt another want in his 
heart, that of a supernatural power, to support his weak- 
ness. The breaking of a wave, the murmur of a solitary 
wind, all the noises which arise out of nature, all the 
movements that animate the deserts, appeared to him as if 
combined with this hidden cause. Chance united these 
local effects to some fortunate or unfortunate circum- 
stances in his pursuit of the animals on which he was to 
prey ; a particular colour, a new and singular object per- 
haps struck him at that moment : thence the Manitou of 
the Canadian, and the Fetiche of the Negro, the first of 
all the mythologies. 

Thus elementary principles of a false belief being once 
unfolded, a vast career was opened for human supersti- 
tions. The affections of the heart were soon changed 
into divinities more dangerous than they were amiable. 
The savage who had raised a mound over the tomb of 
his friend, the mother who had given her darling infant 
to the earth, came every year at the fall of the leaf, the for- 
mer to shed his tears, the latter to drop her milk over the 
hallowed turf ; both believed that the absent objects so re- 
gretted, and always living in their remembrance, could 
not have wholly ceased to exist. It was without doubt 
friendship weeping over a monument which inspired the 
dogma of the immortality of the soul 3 and proclaimed the 
religion of the tombs, 



TOtU 67 K. JIICHAU3. 271 

But man, at length, quitting the forests, formed him- 
self into a society with his fellow- creatures. Soon, the 
gratitude or the fears of the people raised legislators, 
heroes, and kings to the rank of deities. At the same 
time, some geniuses cherished by heaven, as an Orpheus 
or a Homer, increased the numbers that inhabited Olym- 
pus : under their creative pencils, all the accidents of 
nature were transformed into celestial spirits. These new 
gods reigned for a long time over the enchanted imagina- 
tions of mankind ; Anaxagoras, Democritus, Epicurus* 
all essayed to raise the standard against the religion of 
their country. But, oh sad infatuation of human errors ! 
Jupiter was a detestable god, such an one that moving 
atoms, an eternal matter was preferable to this deity, armed 
with thunder, and the avenger of crimes. 

It was reserved for the Christian religion to over- 
throw the altars of all these false gods, without plunging 
the people into atheism, and without destroying the 
charms of nature. For, even though it were as certain 
as it is doubtful, that Christianity could not furnish to 
the poet a vein of the marvellous as rich as that furnished 
by fable, yet it is true, and to this M. Michaud himself 
must assent, that there is a certain poetry of the soul, we 
will say almost an imagination of the heart, of which no 
trace can be found in mythology. The affecting beauties 
that emanate from this source, would alone amply com- 
pensate the ingenious falsehoods of antiquity. In the 
pictures of paganism, every thing is a machine and a 
spring, all is external, all is made for the eyes ; in the 
pictures of the Christian religion, all is sentiment and 
thought, all is internal, all is created for the souL What 
charm of meditation, what scope for sensibility ! there is 
more enchantment in one of those divine tears which Christi- 
anity excites, than in all the pleasing errors of mythology. 
With Our Lady of Sorrows* a Mother of Pity^ some 



272 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS. 

obscure saint, a patron of the blind, the orphan and the 
miserable, an author may write a more heart-dissolving 
page than with all the gods of the Pantheon. Here in- 
deed is poetry, here indeed is the marvellous. But would 
you seek the marvellous still more sublime, contemplate 
the life and the sorrows of Christ, and remember that 
your God was called the Son of Man. We will venture 
to predict, that a time will come when we cannot be suffici- 
ently astonished how it was possible to pass over the ad- 
mirable beauty of the expressions used in Christianity, 
and when we shall have difficulty to comprehend how it 
could be possible to laugh at the celestial religion of rea~ 
son and misfortune. 




273 



UPON THE 

HISTORY OF THE LIFE OF 
JESUS CHRIST, 

BY FATHER DE LIGNY* 



THE History of the Life of Jesus Christ is one of the 
last works for which we are indebted to that celebrated so- 
ciety,* nearly all the members of which were men distin- 
guished for their literary attainments. Father de Ligny ? 
born at Amiens in 1710, survived the destruction of hi$ 
order, and prolonged till 1783, a career which commenc- 
ed during the misfortunes of Louis XIV, and finished at 
the period of the disasters of Louis XVI. Whenever in 
these latter times we met in the world with an aged ec- 
clesiastic, full of knowledge, wit, and amenity, having 
the manners of a man of liberal education, and of one 
who had been accustomed to good company, we were 
disposed to believe that ancient priest a Jesuit. The 
Abbe Lenfant also belonged to this order, which ha$ 
given so many martyrs to thechurch ; he was the friend 

* Father de I4gny was 4 Jesuit, 
Mm 



274 ESSAYS Otf VARIOUS SUBJECTS. 

of Father de Ligny, and it was he who made him finally 
determine to publish the history in question of the Life of 
Jesus Christ. 

This History is, in fact, nothing more than a commen- 
tary upon the Gospels, and it is that which constitutes its 
great merit in our eyes. Father de Ligny cites the text 
of the New Testament, and expounds every verse in two 
ways ; the one, by explaining in a moral and historical 
point of view what you have just read ; the other, by 
answering any objections which may be urged against 
the passage cited. The first commentary is in the page 
with the text, in the same manner as in the Bible of 
Father de Carrieres ; the second is in the form of a note, 
at the bottom of the page. In this manner the author 
offers to your view, in succession, and in their proper 
order, the different chapters of the Evangelists ; and by 
thus bringing to your observation their affinity, by re- 
conciling their apparent contradictions, he developes the 
entire life of the Redeemer of the world. 

The work of Father de Ligny was become very 
scarce, and the Typographical Society have rendered an 
essential service to religion in reprinting a book of such 
eminent utility. We know of many histories of the life 
of Jesus Christ, among the productions of French authors, 
but not one which combines, like the present, the two ad^ 
vantages of being at the same time an explanation of the 
Scriptures, and a refutation of the sophisms of the day. 
The Life of Jesus Christ by Saint Real wants grace and 
simplicity ; it is much more easy to imitate Sallust and 
the Cardinal de Retz, than to acquire the style of the 
Gospel.* Father Montreuil, in his Life of Jesus Christ, 

* The Conspiracy of the Count de Fiesco, by Cardinal de 
Hetz, appears to have served as a model for the Conspiracy oi 
Venice, by Saint Real. There subsists between these two works 
the difference which always must subsist between the original and 



Life of jesus christ. 275 

revised by Father Brignon, has preserved, on the con- 
*rarv, much of the charm of the New Testament. His 
style being a little antiquated, contributes perhaps to this 
charm; for the ancient French language, and more 
especially that which was spoken under Louis XIII, was 
well calculated to display the energy and simplicity of the 
Scriptures. It would have been fortunate had a good 
translation of them been made at this period. Sacy was toe 
late, and the two best versions of the Bible are the Spanish 
and English versions.* The last of these, which in 
many places retains the force of the Hebrew, was made in 
the reign of James I ; the language in which it is written 
has become a sort of sacred language for the three king- 
doms, as the Samaritan text was for the Jews ; the vene- 
ration which the English have for the Scriptures appears 
to be augmented by it, and the antiquity of the idiom 
seems as if it increased the antiquity of the book. Finally, 
it is impossible not to be aware, that all the histories of 
Jesus Christ which are not, like that of Father de Ligny, 
a simple commentary upon the New Testament, are, 
generally speaking, bad, and even dangerous works. We 
have copied this manner of disfiguring the Gospel from 
the Protestants, not observing that it has had the effect of 
turning many persons to Socinianism. Jesus Christ is 
not a man ; we ought not therefore to write his life in the' 
same manner that we would write that of a simple legist 
tor. We may endeavour to relate his works in the most 
affecting manner, but we can never paint him any other 
than as a human being ; — to paint his divinity is far above 

the copy, between him who writes with rapture and genius, and 
he who by dint of hard labour is enabled to imitate this rapture 
and this genius, with more or less truth and happiness. . 

* M. de Chateaubriand was not acquainted with the excellent 
German version of Luther, Editor 



276 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS. 

our reach. Human virtues have something corporeal in 
them, if we may be permitted the expression, which the 
writer can seize ; but the virtues of Christ are so deeply 
intellectual, there is in them such a spirituality, that 
they seem to shrink from the materiality of our expres- 
sions. 

It is this truth so delicate, so refined, of which Pascal 
speaks, and which our grosser organs cannot touch with- 
out blunting the point* The divinity of Christ is no 
where to be found, and cannot possibly be found any 
where but in the gospel, where it shines among the ineffa- 
ble sacraments instituted by the Saviour, and amid the 
miracles which he performed. The apostles alone were 
able to pourtray it, because they wrote under the inspira- 
tion of the Holy Spirit. They were witnesses of the 
wonders performed by the Son of Man ; they lived with 
him ; some part of his divinity remained stamped upon 
their sacred writings, as the features of this celestial Mes- 
siah remained, say they, impressed on the mysterious veil 
which wiped the sweat from his brow. There is besides 
some danger, that under the idea of producing a work of 
taste and literature, the whole gospel may be transformed 
into a mere history of Jesus Christ. In giving to facts a 
certain air of something merely human, and strictly his= 
torical, in appealing incessantly to an assumed reason 
which is too often nothing more than deplorable folly, and 
in aiming at preaching morality, entirely divested of all 
dogmas, the protestants have suffered every thing like ex- 
alted eloquence to perish from among them. In effect* 
we cannot consider either the Tillotsons, the Wilkins's, 
the Goldsmiths, or the Blairs, notwithstanding their 
merits, as great orators, more especially if we compare 
them with a Basil, a Chrysostome, an Ambrose, a Bour 
daloue, or a Massillon. Every religion which considers 

• Pascal's Thoughts. 



2.IP2 OF JESUS CHRIST. 277 

it as a duty to avoid dogmas, and to banish pomp from 
its worship, condemns itself to be dry and cold. We 
must not presume that the heart of man, deprived of any 
assistance from the imagination, can have resources with- 
in itself sufficient to cherish the undulatio' s of eloquence. 
The very sentiment of eloquence is destroyed even at the 
moment of its birth, if it does not find itself surrounded 
by things capable of nourishing and supporting it ; if it 
finds no images to prolong its duration, no spectacles to 
fortify it, no dogmas which transporting it into the region 
of mystery, prevent its being disenchanted. 

The protestants boast that they have banished gloom 
from the Christian religion ; but in the Catholic worship, 
Job and his holy melancholy, the shade of the cloisters, 
the tears of the penitent upon his rock, the voice of Bos-*- 
suet delivering a funeral Oration, will create more men cf 
genius, than all the maxims of morality devoid of elo- 
quence, as plain and unadorned as the temple where it 
is preached. Father de Ligny has then considered the 
subject in its proper point of view, in confining his life of 
Christ to a simple concordance of the different Gospels- 
Who, besides, could flatter himself with being able to 
equal the beauty of the New Testament ? Would not an 
author who should aspire to such pretensions be already 
condemned. Every Evangelist has his particular cha- 
racter except Saint Mark, whose Gospel seems to be 
nothing more than an abridgment of Saint Matthew's. 
Saint Mark was a disciple of Saint Peter, and many peo- 
ple think that he wrote under the direction of this prince of 
the Apostles. It is worthy of remark, that he has related 
the heavy fault committed by his master. That Jesus 
Christ should have chosen for the chief of his church pre- 
cisely, the only one among his disciples who had denied 
him, appears to us at once a sublime and interesting mys- 
tery. There do we see all the spirit of Christianity ; Saint 



278 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS. 

Peter is the Adam of the new law ; he is the sinful and 
repentant father of the new Israelites ; his fall teaches us, 
that the Christian religion is a religion of mercy, and that 
Jesus Christ has established his law among men subject 
to error, much less for the innocent than for the repentant. 

The Gospel of Saint Matthew is to be recommended 
above all things, for the pure morality which it inculcates. 
It is this Apostle who has transmitted to us the greatest 
number of moral precepts in the sentiments recorded hy 
him, as proceeding so abundantly from the mouth of 
Jesus Christ. 

Saint John has something more mild and tender in 
his manner. We recognise in him " the disciple whom 
Jesus loved," the disciple who was near him on the mount of 
Olives, during his agony — a sublime distinction undoubt- 
edly, since none but the cherished friend of our soul is 
worthy to be admitted to the mystery of our griefs. John 
was, besides, the only one among the Apostles who ac- 
companied the Son of Man to the cross. It was there 
that the Saviour bequeathed to him the care of his mo- 
ther. "Mather behold your Son; Disciple behold your 
Mother." Divine expression ! ineffable recommendation. 
This was the well beloved disciple who slept upon the 
bosom of his master, who retained in his soul an image 
of him never to be effaced ; who was the first to recog- 
nise him after his resurrection ;— -the heart of John could 
not be mistaken in the features of hi9 divine friend, and 
faith was given to him as a reward for kindness. 

For the rest the spirit breathed throughout the whole 
of Saint John's Gospel is comprised in the maxim, which 
he went about repeating in his old age. This Apostle 
full of days and of gpod works, when no longer able to 
preach long sermons to the new people whom he had 
brought forth to Jesus Christ, contented himself with 
this exhortation ; " My little children love one another," 



UIZ OF JfcSUS CHRIST. 279 

St. Jerome asserts that Saint Luke was a physician, 
a profession so noble and so esteemed in antiquity, and 
adds that bis gospel was medicine to the soul. — His lan- 
guage is pure and elevated, shewing at once a man con- 
versant with letters, and one who was well acquainted 
with the manners and the men of his time.— He begins 
his narrative after the manner of the ancient historians ; 
you may fancy that it is Herodotus speaks : 

1. Since many have undertaken to write the history 
of those things which have come to pass amongst us — 

2. According to the account given by those who, from 
the beginning, were eye witnesses of them, and who have 
been ministers of the word — 

3. It seemed proper to me that I also, most excellent 
Theophilus, having been exactly informed of all these 
things from their commencement, should write to you in 
their order the whole history of them. 

Our ignorance is such, at the present time, that there 
are perhaps sorne men of letters who will be astonished 
at learning that Saint Luke is a great writer, whose gos- 
pel breathes the true genius of the ancient Greek and 
Hebrew languages — What can be more beautiful than 
the passage which precedes the birth of Christ ? 

In the days of Herod, king of Judea, there was a cer- 
tain priest named Zacharias, of the course of Abia ; his 
wife was also of the race of Aaron, and her name was 
Elisabeth-— 

They were both righteous before God, but they had 
no children because that Elisabeth was barren, and they 
■were both now well stricken in years. 

Zacharias offers a sacrifice, an Angel "appears to 
him standing by. the side of the altar of incense" he informs 
him that he shall have a son, that this son shall be called 
John, that he shall be the precursor of the Messiah and 
Shat u he shall turn the hearts of the fathers to the chil* 



280 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS. 

dren" — The same Angel goes afterwards to a virgin liv- 
ing in Israel, and says to her : " Hail thou that art highly 
favoured, the Lord is ivith thee" — Mary goes into the 
mountains of Judea ; she meets Elisabeth, and the infant 
which the latter carries in her womb, leaps at the voice of 
the virgin who is about to bring the Saviour into the world. 
Elisabeth, being filled on a sudden with the Holy Ghost, 
raises her voice and cries aloud " Blessed art thou among 
-women : and blessed is the fruit of thy womb! 

Whence am I thus blessed that the mother of my Sa- 
v'our comes to me ? 

For when you saluted me, no sooner had your voice 
struck my ears, than my infant leaped in my womb for 

Mary then chants the magnificent canticle my soul, 
glorify the Lord ! 

The history of the manger and of the shepherds follow 
next ; a midtitude of the heavenly host sing, during the 
nighty " glory to God in heaven, and on earth peace, good 
wdl to men" a sentiment worthy of angels and which is 
as it were an epitome of the whole Christian religion. 

We believe ourselves to be somewhat acquainted with 
antiquity, and we dare affirm that we might have searched 
a long time among the sublimest geniuses of Greece and 
Rome before we had found any thing which was at once 
so simple and so wonderful. 

Whoever reads the gospel, with a little attention, will 
every moment discover in it admirable things, which es- 
cape us at £rst on account of their extreme simplicity. — 
Saint Luke, for instance, in giving the genealogy of Christ 
goes back to the beginning of the world. Arrived at the 
first generations and continuing to name the different ra- 
ces he sayaj " Ccinan wh'wh was ofEnos, which was of 
Sethj which was of Adam, which was of God!" the sim- 
ple expression " which was of God" thrown out thus 



LIFE OF JESUS CHRIST. 281 

without any comment and without any reflexion, to relate 
the creation, the origin, the nature, the end, and the mys- 
tery of man, appears to us tlte height of sublimity. 

Much praise is due to Father de Ligny for having felt 
that he ought not to alter these things, and that he who 
could not be satisfied with these, and similar touches, 
must have a very fake taste, and be little acquainted with 
Christianity. His History of Jesus Christ offers an addi-. 
tional proof of the truth of what we have advanced in ano- 
ther place, that the fine arts among the moderns are indebt- 
ed to the Catholic religion for the major part of their suc- 
cess. Sixty engravings, after the masters of the Italian, 
French and Flemish schools, enrich this fine work ; and 
it is worthy of remark, that in seeking to add the embel- 
lishments of pictures to a life of Jesus Christ it has been 
found that all the chefs d'eeuvre of modern painting were 
comprehended in the collection.* 

We scarcely know how to bestow sufficient commen- 
dation upon the typographical society who, in so short a 
space of time, have given us with the truest taste and dis- 
crimination works of such general utility. — The select 
Sermons of Bossuet and Fenelon, the Letters of Saint 
Francis de Sales, and many other excellent books, have 
all issued from the same presses, and leave nothing further 
to be desired as to the manner in which they are executed. 

The work of Father de Ligny, besides being embel- 
lished by the painter, is about to receive another ornament 
not less precious. M. de Bonald has undertaken to write 
a preface to it ; this name alone speaks talents and an en- 
lightened mind, and commands respect and esteem. Who 
is better calculated to treat of the laws and precepts of 
Jesus Christ, than the author of Divorce, of the work upon 

* Raphael, Michael Angeioj-Dommichinoj the Caracci, Paul 
Veronese, Titian, Leonardo-da- Vinci, Guercino, Lanfranc, Pons* 
sin, Le Sueur. Le Brun, Rubens, &c. 



282 £SSAYS OH VARIOUS SUBJECTS. 

Primitive Legislation, and of that upon the Theory of 
Political and Religious Power ? 

It cannot any longer be a matter of doubt ; this sense* 
less religion, this madness of the cross, the approaching 
fall of which has been pronounced by superlative wisdom, 
is about to be regenerated with added force. The palm 
of religion thrives always in proportion to the tears which 
christians shed, as the verdure of the grass is renewed in 
a spot of land which has been abundantly watered. It 
was an unworthy error to believe that the gospel was over- 
thrown because it was no longer defended by the prospe- 
rous part of mankind. The strength of Christianity lies 
in the cottage of the poor, and its basis is as durable as the 
misery of man upon which it is built. " The church,'* 
says Bossuet, in a passage which we might have suppos- 
ed to emanate from the tenderness of Fenelon, if it had 
not a more elevated and original turn, — " the church is 
she daughter of the Omnipotent, but her father, who sus- 
tains her from within, abandons her often to persecution 
from without ; and, after the example of Jesus Christ, she 
is obliged to exclaim in her agony ; My God, my God % 
why hast thou forsaken me /* her husband is the most 
powerful as well as the most sublime and the most perfect 
nmong the sons of men/j* but she has only heard his en- 
chanting voice, she has only enjoyed his mild and engag- 
ing presence for a moment.} Suddenly he has taken to 
flight with a rapid course, and swifter than the fawn of a 
hind, has ascended to the highest mountains. J Like a de- 
solate wife the church has done nothing but groan, and the 

* Dc ua mens, Deus metis, ut quid dereliquieti me ? 

t Sficcioitiw foTTna pro fliih hominum. Psal. XLIV, 3. 

£ Amicus 8/ionsi etat et audit eum, gaudio gaudct firofitcr 
i o'eem s/ionsi. Joann. iii, 29. 

§ Fuge dilrcle mi, ct aasimilare capr<s t hinnuloque cervorum eu 
fief montes aromatum. Cant, viii, 14. 



LIFE OF JESUS CHRIST. 283 

song of the forsaken turtle* is in her mouth ; in short she 
is a stranger and a wanderer upon the earth, where she is 
come to gather together the children of God under her 
wings, and the world who is incessantly labouring to tear 
them from her does not cease to cross her in her pilgrim- 
age.f 

This pilgrimage may be crossed but its completion 
cannot be prevented. — If the author of the present article 
had not been already persuaded of this important truth he 
must have been convinced of it now, by the scene passing 
before his eyes. J What is this extraordinary power which 
leads about a hundred thousand christians upon these ru- 
ins ? By what prodigy does the cross appear again in tri- 
umph in the same city where not long since it was, in hor- 
rible derision, dragged in the mud or deluged with blood ? 
Whence does this proscribed solemnity re-appear ? What 
song of mercy has replaced so suddenly the roaring of 
cannon, and the cries of the christians who are thrown to 
the earth ? Is it the fathers, the mothers, the brothers, the 
sisters, the children of these victims who pray for die ene- 
mies of the faith and whom you behold upon their knees 
in every direction, at the windows of these ruined houses, 
or upon the heaps of stones which are yet smoking with 
the blood of the martyrs ? — The mountains, covered with 
monasteries* not less religious because they are deserted ; 
these two rivers, where the ashes of the confessors of Jesus 
Christ have so often been thrown ; all the places consecrat- 
ed by the first steps of Christianity among the Gauls ; 
this grotto of St. Pothin; — the catacombs of Irenaeus 
have not beheld greater miracles than those which are e£ 
fected at this moment. If, in 1793, at the moment of the 

• Vox turturis audita est in terra nostra. Cant, ii, It. 
t Funeral oration of M, le Tellier. 

\ This was written at Lyons on the day of the festival of Cor- 
pus Chr isti, 



284 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS. 

fusillades of Lyons, when the temples were demolished 
and the priests were massacred ; when an ass loaded with 
the sacred ornaments was led about the streets and the ex- 
ecutioner armed with his hatchet accompanied this wor- 
thy parade of reason ; if a man had then said : " Before 
ten years shall have passed away, a Prince of the Church, 
an Archbishop of Lyons, shall carry the holy sacrament 
•publicly along the same places, accompanied by a nume- 
rous clergy, by young maidens cloathed in white; that 
the ceremony should be preceded and followed by men of 
all ages and of all professions, carrying flowers and torch- 
es ; that the misguided soldiers who had been armed 
against religion, sliould appear in this festival to protect 
it" — If a man had, ten years ago, held such language, he 
would have passed for a visionary ; yet this man would 
not have told the whole truth ; even on the eve of the ce- 
remony, more than ten thousand christians desired to re- 
ceive the seal of the true faith ; the prelate of this great 
commune appeared like Saint Paul, in the midst of an 
immense crowd, who demanded of him a sacrament so 
precious in the times of trial, since it gives the power to 
confess the gospel. And yet this is not all ; deacons 
have been ordained, and priests have been consecrated ! 
Do they tell us that the new pastors seek glory and for- 
tune ? Where are the benefices which await them, the 
honours which can recompense them for the labours their 
ministry exacts ? A mean alimentary pension, some half 
ruined presbytery, or some obscure habitation provided 
by the charity of the faithful — these are the sum of the 
temptations offered them. — They must moreover expect 

o be calumniated ; they must reckon upon denuncia- 
tions, upon mortifications of every description ; we may 

say more, should some powerful man withdraw his pro- 
tection one day, the next, philosophism would extermi- 
;>riests under the sword of tolerance, or open again 



LIFE OF JESUS CHRIST* 285 

for them the philanthropic deserts of Guiana— Ah ! when 
the children of Aaron fell with their faces upon the earu\ 
when the archbishop, standing before the altar, stretching 
his hands towards the prostrate^ Levites pronounced these 
words Accipejugum I)omini — the force of them penetrat- 
ed all hearts and filled all eyes with tears. . u They have 
accepted from him this yoke/the yoke of the Lord," and 
they have found it so much the more light, omnes ejus leve 
in proportion as men have endeavoured to render it heavy 
— Thus in spite of the predictions of these oracles of the 
age, in spite of the progress of the human mind, the church 
increases and perpetuates itself, according to the oracle, 
much more to be relied on, of him by whom it was found- 
ed. And whatever shall be the storms by which it may 
yet be assailed it will continue to triumph against the su- 
perior lights of the sophists, as it has triumphed over the 
darkness of the barbarian?* 



M 



OS THE 



NEW EDITION OF ROLLING WORKS, 



THE friends of literature have observed ftr some- 
time, with extreme pleasure, that those principles of 
Caste which ought never to have been neglected, are every 
where reviving. By degrees the systems which have 
been productive of so much evil are abandoned ; men 
venture to examine and combat the unaccountable 
opinions which have been propagated respecting the lite- 
rature of the eighteenth century. Philosophy, formerly 
but too fruitful, seems at present menaced with sterility, 
while religion produces every day new talents, while it 
daily sees its disciples multiplied. 

A symptom not less unequivocal of the return of 
men's minds to sound and rational ideas, is the reprinting 
those classical works which the ridiculous ignorance and 
contempt of the philosophers had rejected. Rollin, for 
instance, abounding as he does with the treasures of an- 
tiquity, was not deemed worthy to serve as a guide to the 
scholars of an age of superior light, the professors of 
which themselves, had great occasion to be sent back to 
school.* Men who had passed forty years of their lives 

• I mu3t here be understood to speak only of the age, as taken 
collectively, not including some m^n whosfl talents m\\ always be 
"nnsidered a** an honour to Frpnrr 



tOLLJV'flt WORKS. 287 

in composing, conscientiously, some excellent volumes 
of instruction for youth ; men who in the retirement of 
their closets lived on familiar terms with Hbmer, with 
Demosthenes, with Cicero, with Virgil; men who were 
so simply and so naturally virtuous, that no one thought 
even of praising their virtues ; men of this description were 
doomed to see a set of miserable charlatans, destitute of ta- 
lents, of science, or of moral conduct, preferred before 
them. The poetics of Aristotle, of Horace and of Boi- 
leau were replaced by poetics full of ignorance, of bad 
taste, of misguided principles and mistaken decisions, 
According to the judgment of the master would be re- 
peated from the Zo'ilus of Quinault : " Boileau, the cor- 
rect author of many excellent works" According to the 
scholar, would have been pronounced : " Boileau, with- 
out fire, without fyvcy, without fecundity " When our 
respect for good models is lost to such a degree, no one 
can be astonished at seeing the nation return to bar 
barism. 

Happily the opinion of the age begins to take another 
tum. In a moment when the ancient modes of instruc 
tion are about to be revived, the public will no doubt see 
with pleasure that a new edition of the complete works of 
Rollin is in preparation. The Treatise on Study will 
first appear, and will be accompanied by observations 
and critical notes. This admirable undertaking is under 
the direction of a man who preserves the sacred deposit of 
the traditions and thej authorities of ages, and who will de- 
serve from posterity the title of restorer of the School of 
Boileau and of Racine. 

The life of Rollin, which is to precede this edition of 
his works, is already printed, and is now before us. It is 
equally remarkable for the simplicity and the mild warmth 
of the style, for the candour of the opinions, and the just- 
ness of the ideas, We shall have only one subject of 



.288 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS. 

regret in giving to. our readers some fragments of this life, 
it is that we are not permitted to name the young and • 
modest author to whom we are indebted for it. 

After speaking of the birth of Rollin and his entrance 
into the College of the Eighteen, the .writer of the . life 
adds ; " The young Rollin was a stranger to those emo- 
tions . of vanity which so often accompany knowledge 
newly, acquried, and which yield in the sequel to more 
extensive acquisitions. This sweet natural disposition 
expanded with his attainments, and he only appeared the 
more amiable as he became better informed. It must be 
observed that the rapid progress he made in learning, 
which w T as talked of in the world with a sort of astonish- 
ment, redoubled the tenderness of his happy mother. 
Nor was she assuredly less flattered by receiving visits 
continually from persons of* the highest distinction for 
their rank and birth, who came to congratulate her, ask- 
ing as a favour that the young student might be permitted 
to pass the days of vacation with their children who were 
of the same college } that he might be the companion of 
their pleasures as he was of their exercises. 

" The world was then full of those pious and illustri- 
ous families where flourished the ancient manners, and 
the Christian virtues. Many of these in particular were 
included in the magistracy of which they were the great 
ornament. While the young warriors sought in the 
midst of dangers to sustain the glory of their ancestors, or 
to acquire new honours, the young magistrates engaged 
in another species of militia, and, subjected to a discipline 
yet more rigorous, distinguished themselves by their fru- 
gality, by serious studies, by science, by elevation of sen- 
timents. They transmitted to their sons these holy and 
irreproachable manners : they took a pleasure in being 
fmrrounded with virtuous children, they sometimes shared 



ROLLING WORKS, 289 

their studies and found a noble relaxation in the labours 
which had occupied their youth, 

" The two eldest sons of M. Le Pelletier then minis- 
ter, and who belonged to the same class with the young 
Rollin, found a formidable competitor in this new comer. 
M. Le Pelletier who knew all the advantages of emulation 
sought every means of cherishing it. When the young 
Rollin was emperor, which often happened, he sent him 
the gratuity which he was accustomed to give his sons ; 
and the latter, notwithstanding, tenderly loved their rival 
On the days of vacation he often accompanied them home 
in their coach, or they carried him first to his mother's 
house if he desired it, and waited there for as long a time 
as he wished to stay. 

" One day, Madame Rollin observed that her son, in 
getting into the carriage, took the first place without any 
ceremony. She began to reprove him severely, as being 
guilty of a great breach of propriety and good manners ; 
but the preceptor, who was with them, interrupted her 
mildly, representing it as a regulation made by M. Le 
Pelletier that the youths should take their places in the 
carriage according to the order in which each stood in his 
class. Rollin preserved, to the last days of his life, a 
tender and grateful respect for the protector of his youth, 
whose kindnesses he thought he could never sufficiently 
acknowledge. He was the constant friend of the young 
men who had been the companions of his studies, and 
attached himself more and more to this respectable family 
by that amiable sentiment which delights to dwell on 
the recollections of our youth, and extends itself through 
every stage of life." 

It appears to us that this passage is very affecting ; 
we hear the accents of a true French heart ; something of 
mingled gravity and tenderness like the old magistrates 
and the young college friends of which our author recals 

Oo 



290 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS. 

the recollection. It is remarkable that it was only in 
France, in that country celebrated for the frivclity of its 
inhabitants that we saw these august families so distin- 
guished for the austerity of their manners. A Harlay, 
a De Thou, a Lamoignon, a d'Aguesseau, formed a sin- 
gular contrast with the general character of the nation. 
Their serious habits,their rigid virtues, their incorruptible 
opinions, seemed as it were, an expiation which they inces- 
santly offered for the lightness and inconstancy of the mass. 
They rendered to the state the most important services in 
more than one way. That Matthew Mole who made Du- 
chesne undertake the collection of the historians of France, 
exposed his life many times during the troubles of the 
Fronde, as his Father Edward Mole had braved the fury 
of the League, to secure the crown to Henry IV. It was 
this same Matthew who, braver than Gustavus or M. Le 
Prince, answered, when some one would have prevented 
his exposing himself to the rage of the populace : " Six 
feet of earth will bring the greatest man in the world to 
reason." This was to act like the ancient Cato, and to 
speak like the ancient Corneille. 

Rollin was an extraordinary man who might almost 
be said to possess genius by dint of science, of candour, 
and of goodness. It is only among the obscure titles of 
the services rendered to childhood that the true documents 
of his glory are to be found ; it is there that the author 
of his life has sought thosfe features with which he has 
composed a picture full of sweetness and simplicity ; he 
delights to present to us Rollin charged with the educa- 
tion of youth. The tender respect which the new rector 
preserved for his ancient masters, his love to the children 
confided to his care, and the solicitudes he experienced on 
their account are delightfully painted, and always with a 
manner suited to the subject ; a rare faculty indeed.' 

When the author afterwards proceeds to speak of his 



ROLLIN S WORKS, 



29 i 



hero's works, and enters into important discussions, he 
shews a spirit embued with the good doctrines, and a 
head capable of strong and serious ideas. As an instance 
of this we will cite a passage where the principles of edu^ 
cation are investigated, with the faults that have been im= 
puted to the ancient method of instruction. The author 
says : 

" More important inconveniences, it has been said, 
are found in the course of instruction pursued at our uni- 
versities, which calling the attention of young men inces- 
santly to the heroes of the ancient republics, and to the 
contemplation of their virtues, cherishes in their minds, 
maxims and thoughts contrary to the political order of 
the society in which they live. Some even conceive the 
anarchical and revolutionary doctrines to have issued from 
the colleges. Assuredly every thing is mortal to those 
who are already sick, and this remark is an impeachment 
of the time in which it was made. But although some 
particular examples might be cited, which seem to justify 
it, we cannot allow it valid as an objection against the 
mode of instruction in the university, unless on the sup- 
position that those objects were separated, which in fact 
were always combined ; I mean to say the examples of 
heroism and the maxims proper to excite an enthusiasm 
in the religion which purifies them, and renders them 
conformable to order. Rollin however does not separate 
them, and if sometimes he abandons his disciple to a very 
natural admiration of brilliant actions, he is always ready 
to restrain him within legitimate bounds ; he returns to 
the charge, he examines the pagan hero by a light more 
safe and more penetrating, showing in what respects he 
failed both by the excess and by the imperfections of his 
virtues. 

" With such temperate restrictions, should virtues of 
a doubtful nature^ should maxims that may prove into:;. 



292 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS. 

icating and too strong for reason, be always placed before 
the eyes of youth ; and when we are once sure of the mind 
being properly regulated, there is no reason to fear heat- 
ing it. Then the admiration which the heroes of antiqui- 
ty excite, is no longer dangerous, it is as favourable to 
virtue as the study of those inimitable works in which 
they are celebrated ; it fertilizes talents and carries on es- 
sentially the great work of education. This classical in- 
struction contributes towards ornamenting the whole life, 
by instilling a crowd of maxims, and by leading to com- 
parisons which mingle themselves with every situation 
in which the public man may be placed, spreading thus 
over the most common actions, that sort of dignity al- 
ways attendant upon elegance of manners. I please my- 
self with thinking, that in the midst of study and of the 
rural occupations which filled up thj, leisure hours of our 
illustrious magistrates in France, t^ey found a secret 
charm in the recollection of a Fabricius or a Cato, who 
had been th£ object of their enthusiasm in their youthful 
days. In one word, those virtuous instincts which de* 
fended the ancient republics against the vices of their in- 
stitutions and their laws, are like an excellent nature which 
religion has finished. Not only does she repress every 
dangerous energy, but she ennobles every action by giv- 
ing pure motives for it, she elevates the mind by the very 
restrictions she imposes upon it to a grandeur yet more 
heroic ; it is this above all things which assures the pre- 
eminence of those characters we admire in our modern 
histories.' ' 

We might here apply, as our judgment upon the au- 
thor himself, the comparison which follows the fine pas- 
sage above- cited ; a passage no less justly thought than 
well written. "It is thus that in the immortal works to 
which we are always led by an inexhaustible attraction, 
we see the expression of a brilliant imagination subjected 



to strong and severe reasoning, but enriched by its very 
privations, and which bursts out only at intervals to attest 
the grandeur of the conquest made over it. 

The rest of the life of Roilin is filled with those petty 
details which pleased Plutarch so much, and which occa- 
sioned him to say in his life of Alexander : "As the 
painters who sketch portraits seek, above all things, re- 
semblance in the features of the face, particularly in the 
eyes, where shine the most sensibly the characteristics of 
the mind, let me be permitted to seek the principal fea- 
tures in the soul, that in bringing them together I may 
form living and animated portraits of the great men I 
would describe.' ' 

We think we shall confer an obligation on the readers 
by giving, at full length, the oratorical effusion with which 
the author terminates the life. " Louis XVI, struck with 
a renown so interesting, has acquitted us of what was due 
to the manes of Roilin ; he has exalted his name, so that 
hereafter it will be recorded with others of the highest ce- 
lebrity, in ordering a statue to be erected to him among 
those of the Rossuets and the Turennes. The venerable 
pastor of youth will descend to posterity in the midst of 
the great men who rendered the fine age of France so il- 
lustrious. If he may not have equalled them, he has at 
least taught us to admire them. Like them his writings 
breathe all that nature so conspicuous in the writings of 
the ancients, while his conduct displayed those virtues 
which cherish strength of mind, and even become real 
talents ; like them he will always increase in fame, and 
public gratitude will continually advance his glory. 

" In relating the labours, and the simple events which 
rilled up the life of Roilin, we were sometimes carried 
back to an epoch which is every day farther removed 
from us, and painful reflections have mingled themselves 
with our narration. We have spoke of the course of 



294 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS. 

studies in France, and it is not long since they were inter- 
rupted. We have retraced the government and the dis- 
cipline of the colleges where a happy youth was educated, 
far from the seductions of society, and the greater part of 
these colleges are still deserts. We have recalled the ser- 
vices rendered by that university so celebrated and so 
venerable, its ancient honours and that spirit of good fel- 
lowship which perpetuated the fame of the useful know-, 
ledge taught, and of the masters by whom it was commu- 
nicated, and they are no more ; all have perished in the 
general wreck of every thing great and useful. The 
quarters, even, where the university of Paris flourished, 
seem as in mourning for their destruction ; the cause of 
their celebrity gone, no longer are new inhabitants perpe- 
tually resorting to them ; the population has moved into 
other places to exhibit there samples of other manners. 
Where are now the strict educations which prepared the 
soul to fortitude and tenderness ? Where are those mo- 
dest, yet well-informed young men, who united the inge- 
nuous minds of infancy with the solid qualities that grace 
and adorn the man ? Where, in short, is the youth of 
France? — A new generation has succeeded. . . * . . 

14 Who can recount the complaints and reproaches 
which are daily uttered against this new race. Alas ! 
they grew up almost unknown to their fathers, in the 
midst of civil discords, and they are absolved by the pub- 
lic calamities. Every thing was wanting to them, instruc- 
tion, remonstrance, good example, the mild treatment of 
the paternal roof, which disposes the child to virtuous sen- 
timents, and gives to his lips a smile that can never be ef- 
faced. Yet for such losses they evince no regret, they cast 
no look of sadness behind them ; we see them wandering 
about the public places, and filling the theatres as if they 
were only reposing after a long life of toil and labour. Ru- 
ins surround them, and they pass before those ruins 



hollin's works. 293 

without experiencing the curiosity of an ordinary travel- 
ler ; they have already forgotten those times of eternal me- 
mory. 

" Generation, new indeed, which will bear a distinct 
and singular character, which separates the old times from 
the times to come. It will not have to transmit those tra- 
ditions which are an honour to families, nor those deco- 
rums which are the guarantees of public manners, nor 
those customs which form the great bonds of society. 
They march to an unknown goal, dragging with them our 
recollections, our decorums, our manners, and customs ; 
the old men find themselves still greater strangers in their 
country in proportion as their children are multiplied on 
the earth. . . • 

" At present the young man, thrown, as by a ship- 
wreck, upon the entrance of his career, vainly contemplates 
the extent of it. He produces nothing but ungratified 
wishes, and projects devoid of consistence. He is depriv- 
ed of recollection, and he has no courage to form hopes ; 
his heart is withered and he has never had any passions ; 
as he has not filled the different epochs of life, he feels al- 
ways within himself something imperfect which will ne- 
yer be finished. His taste, his thoughts, by an afflicting 
contrast, belong at once to all ages, without presenting 
either the charm of youth, or the gravity of ripened age a 
His whole life bears the appearance of one of those stor- 
my years, the progress of which is marked with sterility, 
and in which the course of the seasons and the order or 
nature seem wholly inverted. In this confusion the most 
desirable faculties are turned against themselves, youth is 
a prey to the most extraordinary gloom, or to the false 
sweets of a wild and irregular imagination, to a proud 
contempt of life, or to an indifference which arises from 
despair. One great disease shows itself under a thousand 
different forms. Even those who have been fortunate 



296 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS. 

enough to escape this contagion of the mind, confess all 
the violence that they have suffered. They have leaped 
hastily over the first stages, and take their seats already 
among the aged, whom they astonish by an anticipated 
maturity, but without finding any thing to compensate 
what they have missed in passing over their youth. 

" Perhaps some among these may be induced occa- 
sionally to visit those asylums of science which they were 
never permitted to enter. Then, seeing the spacious en- 
closures, where are heard anew the sounds of classic sports 
and triumps, casting their eyes over the lofty walls where 
still may be read the half effaced names of some of the 
great men of France, they may feel bitter regrets arise in 
their souls, accompanied by desires even more painful 
than the regrets. They demand even now, that educa- 
tion which produces fruits for a whole life, and which 
nothing can compensate. They demand even those pains 
and chagrins of childhood, which leave behind such ten- 
der recollections — recollections so sweet to a mind of 
sensibility. But they demand, alas, in vain. After hav- 
ing consumed fifteen years, that great portion of human 
life, in silence, and yet in the midst of the revolutions of 
empires, they have only survived the companions of their 
own age ; survived it may almost be said themselves, to 
approach that term where irrecoverable losses alone are to 
be expected. Thus they must always be consigned to 
secret mournings which can admit of no consolation, they 
must remain exposed to the examination of another gene- 
ration who encompass them like centinels, for ever crying 
to them to turn aside from the fetal path in wfeich they have 
lost themselves." 

This passage alone will suffice to justify the encomi- 
ums we have pronounced upon the life of Rollin. Here 
we find beauties of the highest description expressed with 
eloquence, and some of those thoughts which never occur 



hollin's works. 297 

but among great writers. We cannot too warmly en- 
courage the author to abandon himself to his genius. Hi- 
therto a timidity natural to true talent has made him seek 
subjects not of the most elevated kind, but he ought per- 
haps to endeavour to quit this temperate zone, which con- 
fines his imagination within too narrow bounds. One ea- 
sily perceives throughout the life of Rollin, that he has 
every where sacrificed some of the riches he possesses. 
In speaking of the good rector of the University, he con- 
demned himself to temperance and moderation ; he fear- 
ed that he should wound his modest virtues in shedding 
too great a lustre over them. One might say that he al- 
ways kept in view that law of the ancients, which only per- 
mitted the praises of the Gods to be sung to the most 
grave, and the sweetest tones of the lyre. 



p P 



298 



ON THE MEMOIRS OF LOUIS XIV 



FOR some time past the Journals have announced to 
us Works of Louis XIV. This title shocked many per- 
sons who still attach some value to precision of terms and 
decorum of language. They observed that the term 
Works could only be applied with propriety to an author's 
own productions, when he presents them himself to the 
public ; that this author besides must belong to the ordi- 
nary ranks of society, and that he must have written not 
merely Historical Memoirs but works of science or litera- 
ture ; that in any case a king is not an author by profes- 
sion, consequently he never publishes Works. 

It is true that, going back to antiquity, the early Ro- 
man emperors cultivated letters ; but these emperors were 
only simple citizens before they were raised to the purple. 
Caesar was merely the commander of a legion when he 
wrote his History of the Conquest of Gaul, and the com* 
mcntaries of the captain have since contributed to the glo- 
ry of the emperor. If the Maxims of Marcus Aurclius 
to this day reflect credit on his memory, Claudius and 
Nero drew upon themselves the eontempt of the Roman 
people for having aspired to the honours of poets and lite- 
rati. 

In the Christian monarchies where the royal dignity 



ON THE MEMOIRS OF LOUIS XIV, -99 

has been better understood, we have rarely seen the sove- 
reign descend into those lists where victory could scarcely 
be obtained by them without some mixture of degrada- 
tion, because the adversary was scarcely ever even nobke 
Some German princes who have governed ill, or who have 
even lost their sovereignty in giving themselves up to the 
study of the sciences, excite our contempt rather than our 
admiration : Denys, the master of a school at Corinth, was* 
also a king and a man of letters. A Bible is still to be 
seen at Vienna illustrated with notes from the hand of 
Charlemagne ; but this monarch wrote them only for his 
own use, as an effusion of his piety. Charles V, Francis 
I, Henry IV, Charles IX, all loved learning and patronis- 
ed it, without ever pretending to become authors. Some 
Queens of France have left behind them verses, novels, 
memoirs ; their dignity has been pardoned in favour of 
their sex. England alone, who has afforded us many dan- 
gerous examples, enumerates several authors among her 
monarchs ; Alfred, Henry VIII and James I, really com- 
posed books. But the royal author, by distinction, in 
these modern ages is the great Frederick. Has this prince 
lost renown, or has he gained it by the publication of his 
f Forks ? — this is a question we should answer without he- 
sitation were we only to consult our own feelings. 

We were at first somewhat consoled on opening the 
collection, which we are about to examine. In the first 
place the publication has no claim whatever to be called 
Works ; it is simply memoirs compiled by a father for the 
instruction of his son. And who ought to watch over 
the education of his children, if not a king? — can a love 
for his duties, and an admiration of virtue ever be too 
warmly inculcated upon the mind of a prince, on whom the 
happiness of so many people depends. Full of a just 
respect for the memory of Louis XIV we ran over with 
ome anxiety the writings of this great monarch. It 



300 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS. 

would have been mortifying to lose in any degree our ad- 
miration of him ; and it was with extreme pleasure that 
we found Louis XIV here such as he has descended to 
posterity, such as Madame de Motteville has painted him : 
" His extraordinary good sense, and his good intentions," 
she says, " implanted in his mind the seeds of Universal 
science which were concealed from those who did not see 
him in private. To those who did thus know him he ap- 
peared at once a profound politician in State affairs and a 
deep Theologian in matters relating to the church ; he was 
exact in concerns of finance, he spoke with justness, al- 
ways took the good side in counsel, and entered warmly 
into the affairs of individuals ; he was at the same time the 
enemy of all intrigue and flattery, and was very severe to- 
wards the great people of the country whom he suspected 
of having any ambition to govern. He was pleasant in 
his manners, polite and easy of access to every body, but 
with a serious and dignified air, which inspired the public 
with respect and fear.'* 

Such are precisely the qualities we find, and the charac- 
ter we feel in the Collection of the Thoughts of this prinqe. 
The Works^ as they are called, consist : 1st of Memoirs 
addressed to the Grand Dauphin. These begin in 1661, 
and conclude in 1665. — 2ndly. Military Memoirs relative 
to the years 1673 and 1 678. — 3rdly. Reflections upon the 
trade of a king. — 4lhly. Instructions to Philip V. — 
5thly. Eighteen letters to the same prince and one letter to 
Madame de Maintenon. 

We were before in possession of a Collection of Let- 
ters of Louis XIV, and a translation by him of the Com- 
mentaries of Ctesaiv* It ib belies ed that Pelisson or Ra- 
cine overlooked the Memoirs which are just published, but 
it is certain that the original sketch of them is from Louis 

* Voltaire denies this translation to be Louis theFomtrenthV 



OS THE MEMOIRS OF LOUIS XlV. 301 

himself.* We trace every where his religious, moral, and 
political principles, and the notes added with his own hand 
to the margin of the Memoirs are not inferior to the text 
either in the style or in the thoughts. 

It is besides a fact well attested by all writers that Lou- 
is expressed himself in a style particularly dignified : 
" He spoke little and well," says Madame de Motteviile, 
" There was in trie words he used a force which inspired 
the heart with love or fear, according as they were wild 
or severe' ' — " He always expressed himself nobly and 
with great precision," says M. de Voltaire; he would 
even have excelled in the graces of language if he had 
chosen to make them his study." Monchenay relates that 
he was one day reading Boileau's Epistle upon the pas- 
sage efthe Rhine before Mesdames de Thiange and de 
Montespan" which he read with tones so enchanting that 
Madame de Montespan snatched the book from his hand 
exclaiming " that there was something supernatural in it, 
and that she had never heard any thing so well delivered." 

That neatness of thought, that nobleness in the execu- 
tion, that delicacy of ear so sensible to fine poetry, form 
aj: the first impression, a prejudice in favour of the style 
of these memoirs, and would prove, if farther proof were 
requisite, that Louis XIV was very capable of writing 
them. By citing some passages we shall make the work 
better known to the reader. 

The king, speaking of the different measures which he 

* To judge by the style I should believe Pelisson to have had 
a very large share in this work ; at least it appears to me that his 
phrases so symmetrical, and arranged with so much art are in ma- 
ny places to be detected. Be this as it may, the Thoughts of 
Louis XIFj arranged by a Racine or a Pelisson form a monument 
which deserves to be highly prized by the world. It is very pos- 
sible that the Memoirs might also be reviewed by Roses Marquis 
ds Coye a man of considerable talents who was secretary to Louis? 



302 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS, 

pursued at the beginning of his reign, adds : " I must 
acknowledge that although I had reason before to be satis- 
fied with my own conduct, the eulogiums which novelty 
now drew upon me, gave me continual subject of uneasi- 
ness, in the fears with which I was impressed that I did 
not merit them sufficiently. For, in short, and I am hap- 
py in an opportunity of observing this to you, my son,, 
praise is a very delicate thing ; it is far from an easy matter 
to restrain ourselves from being dazzled by it ; much 
light is necessary to know how to discern truly those that 
flatter, from those that really admire us. 

" But however obscure in this respect may be the 
intentions of our courtiers, there is a certain means of 
profiting by all they say to our advantage, and this means 
is no other than to examine ourselves \try severely with 
reference to every word of praise bestowed on us. For 
when we he:.r any praise given which we are sure 
we do not deserve, we shall immediately consider it, ac- 
cording to the disposition of those by whom it is given,, 
either as a malignant reproach for some defect, which we, 
shall endeavour to correct, or as a secret exhortation to 
the acquisition of some virtue in which we feel that we 
aredefective. ,> 

Nothing more delicate, or more discerning, was ever 
said upon the subject of flatterers ; a man who could so 
justly appreciate the value of praise undoubtedly weB 
deserved to be praised. This passage is particularly re- 
markable from a certain resemblance it bears to many of 
the precepts in Telemachus. At this illustrious period 
reason inspired the prince and the subject with the same 
language. 

The following passage, written entirely by the hand of 
Louis, is not one of the least fine in the Memoirs. " It is 
not only in important negociations that princes ought to 
be cautious what they say, the same caution ought .to be- 



OK THI MEMOIBS ©? LOUIS XIV. 303 

observed in the most common, in the most familiar con- 
versation. This is undoubtedly a painful restraint, but 
It is absolutely necessary that persons of our condition 
should never say any thing lightly. We must by no 
means entertain the idea that a sovereign, because he has 
-authority to do every thing, has also a licence to say every 
thing ; on the contrary, the greater, and the more respect- 
cd he is, the more circumspect ought he to be. Things 
which would be nothing in the mouth of a private man, 
often become important in that of a prince. The least 
mark of contempt shewn by him to any individual, inflicts 
on the heart of that man an incurable wound. A man 
can console himself for any keen raillery, even for words 
of contempt aimed at him by others, either in the idea 
that he shall soon have an opportunity of returning them 
in kind, or by persuading himself that what has been said 
did not make the same impression upon others who heard 
it, as upon himself. But he to whom the sovereign 
should have spoken in such a strain, ft els the affront with 
so much the more impatience because he sees no hope of 
redress. It is true that he may speak ill of the prince 
from whom he has received the offence, but he can onlv 
say it in secret when it will not be heard by the offender, 
end that takes of all the sweets of vengeance. Neither 
can he flatter himself that what was said was either not 
heard, or not approved, because he knows with what ap- 
plause every thing that comes from persons invested with 
authority is received." 

The generosity of these sentiments is no less affecth g 
than it is admirable. A monarch who could erive such 
lessons to his son had undoubtedly the true heart of a 
king ; he was worthy to command a people whose first 
blessing is honour. 

The piece given in this collection entitled, On the trade 
nfa Kir??, had been cited in the age of Louis XIF. " It 



304 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS, 

is a testimony to posterity,' ? said Voltaire, "in favour of 
uprightness and magnanimity of soul." We are sorry 
that the Editor of the Memoirs, who, for the rest, seems 
full of candour and modesty, gave this piece such a title : 
On the trade of a King. Louis made use of this expres- 
sion in the course of his Recollections, but it is not proba- 
ble that he meant to employ it as a title ; it seems indeed 
more probable that he would have corrected the expression 
if he could have foreseen that what he wrote was one day to 
be made public. Royalty is not a trade, it is a character ; 
the anointed of the Lord is not an actor who plays a part, 
he is a magistrate who fills a function ; people do not 
practise the trade of a king as they do that of a mounte- 
bank. Louis XIV, in a moment of disgust, thinking of 
nothing but the fatigues of royalty, might call it a trade y 
and found it perhaps a very painful trade ; but let us be 
cautious not to take the word in too literal a sense. 
This would be to teach mankind that every thing here be- 
low is a trade, that we in this world are all but a sort of 
empirics 5 mounted on stages, to sell our merchandise to 
any dupe whom we can persuade to buy it. Such a 
view of society would lead to very fatal consequences. 

Voltaire has besides cited the Instructions to Philip 
F, but retrenching the first articles. It is distressing to 
find this great man, so distinguished in the literary history 
of the last century, often acting a part little worthy of an 
honest mind, and superior genius. We shall easily per- 
ceive why the historian of Louis XIV. omitted the articles 
alluded to r They are as follow. 

1. Never fail in any of your duties, especially toward? 
God. 

2. Preserve., always, all the purity in which you were 
educated. 

3. Cause God to be honoured wherever you have any 
nowcr ; promote his glory ; be your&elf the first to set an 



ON THE MEMOIRS OF LOUIS XIV. 305 

example of glorifying him, it is one of the greatest goods 
that a king can do. 

4. Declare yourself always on the side of virtue, a- 
gainst vice. 

Saint Louis, dying, exsended upon his bed of ashes 
before the ruins of Carthage, gave nearly the same advice 
to his son : " My son-in-law, the first thing that I teach 
and command thee to observe is, that thou love God 
with all thy heart, and take care not to do any thing which 
may displease him. If God should send thee adversity 
receive it with submission and return him thanks for it ; 
if he give thee prosperity thank him also very humbly, 
for vve ought not to make war with God for the gifts 
which he bestows upon us. Cherish mildness of heart, 
and compassion for the poor, and do not oppress thy 
people with too heavy taxes and subsidies. Fly the com- 
pany of the wicked." 

We are pleased to see two of our greatest princes, at 
two epochs, so remote from each other deliver to their sons 
like principles of religion and justice. If the language 
of Joinville, and that of Racine did not instruct us that an 
interval of four centuries separated the reign of Saint 
Louis from that of Louis XIV we might believe the in- 
i truction to be of the same age. While every thing is con- 
stantly changing in the world, it is delightful to see that 
royal bosoms guard incorruptibly the sacred deposits of 
truth and virtue. 

One of the things which fascinates us the most in 
these memoirs is, that we find Louis XIV often confes- 
sing his faults to his son. " People" says he, " attack 
the heart of a king, as they attack a strong place ; their 
iirst care is to seize on all the posts by which it may be ap- 
proached. A clever woman applies herself in the first 
place to keeping at a distance every thing which is not 
attached to her interests ; she excites suspicion in one, 

Qq 



306 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS. 

disgust in another, till at length she and her friends may 
obtain a favourable hearing, and if we are not on our 
guard against these practices, we must, to please her alone, 
displease every one else. 

" From the moment a woman is permitted to talk 
"With us upon affairs of importance, it is impossible that 
she should not make us fall into errors. The tenderness 
we have for her gives a relish to her false reasonings and 
inclines us insensibly towards the side she takes, while 
her natural weakness making her generally prefer the in- 
terest excited by trifles, to more solid considerations, oc- 
casions her almost always to take the wrong side. Wo- 
men are eloquent in their expressions, urgent in their in- 
treaties, obstinate in their sentiments, and all this is often 
occasioned solely by having taken an aversion to some 
one which they seek to gratify, or from having made some 
promise, lightly, by which they are embarrassed." 

This page is written with singular elegance ; if the 
hand of Racine is any where to be discovered it is here.. 
But, shall we venture to say it, such a knowledge of wo- 
men proves that the monarch, in making his confession, 
was not cured of his weakness. The ancients said of 
certain priests of the Gods ; Many carry the thy r sis, but 
few are inspired, and thus it is with the passion by which 
Louis XIV was subdued, many affect it but few feel it ; 
yet when it is truly felt no one can mistake the inspira- 
tion of its language. 

For the rest, Louis XIV had in the end learnt to 
know the just value of those attachments which pleasure 
forms and destroys. He saw the tears of Madame de La 
Valiiere flow, and he was obliged to support the cries 
and reproaches of Madame de Montespan. The sister 
of the celebrated Count de Lautrec, abandoned by Fran- 
cis I, did not suffer herself to be carried away thus by 
1 seless complaints. The king having ordered the jewels, 



ON THE MEMOIRS OF LOUIS XIV. 307 

ornamented with emblematic devices, with which in the 
first moments of his tenderness he had presented her, to be 
reclaimed, she sent them back melted, and converted into 
bullion. " Carry these," said she, " to the king ; since 
he has been pleased to revoke what he gave me so liberal- 
ly, I return his presents and return them in masses of 
gold. As to the devices, they are so deeply impressed 
on my thoughts, I cherish them there so . tenderly, that I 
could not support the idea of any one but myself enjoying 
them, and disposing of them."* 

If we may believe Voltaire, the bad education which 
Louis XIV received, deprived him of the advantages a 
prince derives from the lessons afforded by history. The 
want of this knowledge is not to be perceived in the me- 
moirs ; the king appears on the contrary to have ample 
ideas of modern history, and to be far from deficient in ac- 
quaintance with the histories of Greece and Rome. He 
reasons on political subjects with an astonishing sagacity ; 
he makes us feel perfectly, in speaking of Charles II, 
king of England, the vice of those states which are 
governed by deliberative bodies ; he speaks of the tiisor* 
ders of anarchy like a prince who had witnessed them in 
his youth ; he knew very well what was defective in 
France, and what she could attain, what rank she ought to 
hold among nations. "Being persuaded," he say s 9 
V that the French infantry had hitherto not been very 
good, I was anxious to find out the means of improving 
it." — And again he says elsewhere : " If a prince have 
but subjects he ought to have soldiers ; and whoever 
having a state well-peopled fails to have good troops has 
nothing to reproach with it but his own idleness and want 
of application." 

We know well, in fact, that it was Louis XIV who 

* Brantcme, 



308 ESSAYS ON VAniOUS SUBJECTS. 

created our army and who surrounded France with that 
line of strong fortresses which rendered it unattackable. 
We see how he regretted the time when his people were 
masters of the world. " When the title of Emperor," he 
says, * was conferred on our house, it was in possession of 
France, the Low Countries, Germany, Italy, and the 
greater part of Spain, which it had divided among several 
individuals, reserving to itself the right of supreme sove- 
reignty over all. The bloody defeats of many, who came 
both from the north and the south, spread so widely the 
terror cf our arms, that the whole earth seemed to trem- 
ble at the name alone of the French, and at the sound of 
the imperial dignity.*' 

These passages prove that Louis XIV knew France 
well, and had studied its history. Had he carried his re- 
searches still farther back, he would have seen that the 
Gauls, our first ancestors, had equally subdued the earth, 
in fact ; when we go beyond our boundaries, we do but 
reclaim our ancient inheritance. The iron sword of a 
Gaul alone served as a counterpoise against the empire of 
the world. u The new T s arrived from the west to the 
east," says a historian, " that a hyperborean nation had 
taken a Grecian town in Italy, called Rome. " The 
name of Gaul signifies traveller ; at the first appearance 
of this powerful race, the Romans declared that they were 
born for the ruin of towns and the destruction of the hu- 
man species. 

Wherever any thing great has been effected, we see 
our ancestors bearing a part in it. The Gauls alone were 
not silent at the sight of Alexander, before whom the 
whole earth besides, was silent. " Do you not feel my 
power,'' said the conqueror of Asia, to their deputies. 
-" We fear only one thing," they replied, " that the hea- 
vens should fall on our heads." Ciesar could only 
conquer by sowing dissensions among them, and it took 



ON THE MEMOIRS OF LOUIS XIV. 509 

him more time to subdue them, than to subdue Pompey 
and the rest of the world. 

All the most celebrated places in the universe have 
been subjected to our great progenitors. Not only was 
Rome taken by them, but they ravaged Greece, they oc- 
cupied Byzantium, they encamped upon the plains of 
Troy, they took possession of the kingdom of Mithri- 
dates, and carrying their arms beyond Taurus, subdued 
those Scythians, who had never been subdued by any 
one. The valour of the Gauls every where decided the 
fate of empires; Asia was rendered tributary to them ; 
the most renowned princes of this part of the world, an 
Antiochus, an Antigonus, courted these formidable war- 
riors, and kings fallen from their thrones retired under 
the shelter of their swords. They constituted the princi- 
pal strength of Hannibal's army; ten thousand of them, 
alone, defended the crown of Alexander, against Paulus 
Emilius, when Perseus saw the empire of the Greeks 
pass under the yoke of the Latins. At the battle of Arc- 
tium it was again the Gauls that disposed of the sceptre 
of the world, since they decided the victory by ranging 
themselves under the standard of Augustus. 

It is thus that the fate of kingdoms has appeared in 
every age to be dependant on the soil of Gaul, as a land 
of fate, stamped with a mysterious signet. All nations of 
the earth seem successively to have heard that voice which 
said to Seditius in the middle of the night : " Go, Sedi- 
tius, say to the tribunes that the Gauls will be here to- 
morrow." 

The Memoirs of Louis XIV will increase his fame ; 
they do not display any thing mean, they do not reveal 
any of those shameful secrets which the human heart too 
often conceals in its deep abysses. Seen nearer, in the 
familiar scenes of his life, Louis XIV does not cease to 
be Louis the Great; we are delighted at being convinced 



310 ESSATS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS. 

that so fine a bust had not an empty head, and that the 
soul corresponded with the grandeur of the exterior. 
" He is a prince," as Boileau said, " who never spoke 
without thinking ; his most important replies breathe the 
sovereign, yet in his domestic life he seems to receive the 
law rather than to give it." This is an eulogium which 
the memoirs confirm in every point of view. 

Many things in w T hich the magnanimity of this xno r 
narch were displayed are well known. The prince de 
Conde told him one day that he had seen a figure of 
Henry IV tied to a stake, stack through with a poignard, 
having an inscription over it of a very odious kind to- 
wards the reigning prince. "lean reconcile myself to 
it>' y said Louis, " they did not do so much for the Slug- 
gard Kings " (Rois Faineans.) It is said that in the 
latter years of his life he found, under his napkin, when 
he was sitting down to dinner, a billet conceived nearly 
in the following terms. " The king stands erect in the 
Place of Victory and in the Place Vendome ;* when will 
he be seated at St. Denis." Louis took the billet, and 
throwing it over his head said aloud : When it shall please 
God. When he was near breathing his last sigh, he or- 
dered the great Lords of his court to be summoned 
around him. " Gentlemen," said he, "I entreat your 
pardon for the bad example I have set you ; I return you 
thanks for the friendship you fyave always shown me ; I 
mtreat you to shew the same fidelity to my grandson* 
I feel my heart melted, I see that you are no less affected ; 
farewell, Gentlemen, sometimes think of me."— To his 
physician, who was weeping, he said : Did you suppose 
me immortal? — Madame de La Fayette, in her writings, 

* Alluding to statues of him in both those Places at Paris. 
The Place of Victory. (Place des Victoires) received its name 
from this statue where Louis was represented as crowned by vir- 
tory. The statue was destroyed in the revolution*— -Translator* 



SW THE MEM0XB3 OF LOUIS XIV. 311 

bas said of this prince that he would be found without all 
dispute one of the greatest of kings, and one of the most 
honest men in his kingdom. This did not prevent the 
people insulting the bier at his funeral, and forbearing to 
sing the Te Deum. Numquid eognoscentur mirabiUa tua t 
etjustitia tua in terra oblivionis. 

What remains to be added to the eulogium of a prince 
who civilized Europe, and raised France to such a de- 
gree of splendor ? Nothing but the following passage, 
taken from his Memoirs. " You Ought, my son, above 
all things to understand that we cannot shew too much 
respect to him who makes us respected by so many mil- 
lions of men. The most essential part of true policy, is 
that which teaches us to serve him well ; the submission 
we pay to him is the finest lesson we can give to those 
from whom submission is due to us ; and we trangress 
the laws of prudence no less than those of justice, when 
we fail in due veneration for him, of whom we are only 
the lieutenants. 

" Though we should have armed all our subjects 
for the defence of his glory ; though we should have rais- 
ed again his altars which had been overthrown ; though 
we should have made his name known in the most re^ 
mote corners of the earth, but a small part of «ur duty 
would be performed ; we should not, without doubt, ef- 
fect that which he desires, if we were ourselves wanting 
in submission to the yoke of his commandments. Those 
actions which make the greatest noise, which shine with 
the greatest lustre, are not always those that please him 
the most ; what passes in secret in our hearts is often that 
which he observes with the greatest attention. He is in- 
finitely jeaious of his glory, but he knows better than we 
do in what it consists. He has, perhaps, only made us 
so great that he might be the more honoured by our re- 
spectj and if we fail in accomplishing his designs, he may 



312 ESSAYS ON VARIOITS SUBJECTS. 

abandon us to be mingled with the dust, whence he drew 
us. 

" Several of my ancestors who have been anxious to 
give similar counsel to their successors waited to do it till 
on the very last verge of life. I shall not follow their exam- 
pie, I give it you now, my son, I shall inculcate it upon 
you whenever I find a favourable opportunity. For, be- 
sides that I think we cannot too early impress on the 
minds of young people ideas of this vast importance, it is 
probable that what these princes said, at so urgent a mo- 
ment, may have failed of effect from being ascribed to the 
danger in which they found themselves. Instead of this, 
in speaking to you now, I am assured that the vigour of 
my age, the disembarrassed state of my mind, and the 
flourishing situation of my affairs, can never leave any 
room for what I say to be imputed either to weakness or 
disguise." It was in 1661 that Louis gave this sublime 
lesson to his son. 



Note by the Editor. 

The appearance of the above article gave occasion to 
an anonymous letter from a pretended Bearnese Cheva- 
lier, addressed to the Gazette of France, no less elegant 
in its style, than just in its ideas. I subjoin the principal 
passages of it. 

" A criticism from the pen of M . de Chateaubriand, 
upon the memoirs published under the name of Louis 
XIV, has been remitted to me. With these Memoirs 
I was not unacquainted ; they were compiled under the 
inspection of Louis, without being compiled by him. His 



ON THE MEMOIRS OF LOUIS XIV. 313 

Familiar conversations were collected in this way, and he 
did not disapprove the form into which they were put 
I shall not ascribe them to Pelisson, he would not have 
said of Fouquet what Louis XIV, thought of him ; and 
having had the courage to defend him at the hazard of 
his life, he would never have lent his pen to his master, 
to asperse the friend he before praised, and thus dishonour 
himself. The president Roses, the intimate secretary of 
Louis, appears to me to have been the sole compiler of 
these Memoirs, and the marginal note which was sup- 
posed to be the hand- writing of the king, is probably that 
of his secretary. The Duke de St. Simon, assures us 
that Roses could imitate the hand- writing of his master 
so well, that it was impossible not to be misled by it. Be 
this as it may, the Memoirs are certainly not unworthy 
of the name they bear. Alexander forbade any others 
but Lysippus and Apelles to represent his features, lest 
they might be disgraced by vulgar hands. Louis XiV, 
did better, he never suffered himself to be seen in a situ- 
ation in which his could be disgraced ; all his actions 
were stamped with true dignity, he was a king even in 
the eyes of his valet -de-chambre. In public his answers 
were noble, in private his familiarity was equally noble. 
Never did he suffer himself to offend any one ; he had an 
innate feeling of great things, his taste was pure, he was 
the first to discern the merit of Boileau, of Racine, and of 
Moliere. What occasion had he to have his name enrolled 
among royal authors ?— -His great work, the only one in- 
contestably hrs, is the illustrious age which bears his name. 
" But that M. de Chateaubriand should take occasion 
from the new character in which Louis has been brought 
forward to declaim against kings who wielded the pen ; — 
that he should assume that a king cannot descend into the 
lists where even victory must be a sort of degradation^ 
since the adversary can scarcely ever be noble ; — -that he 



314 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS. 

would have an author taken only from the ordinary ranks 
of society, — I cannot but find these sentiments somewhat: 
offensive, and involving a sort of literary heresy. 

" That a man of exalted rank should neglect the du- 
ties of his station to devote himself to literature, — that he 
should be writing an ode when he ought to be issuing 
some order of importance to the state,— that like the Vi- 
zier of whom M. de Tott speaks, he should be endeavour- 
ing to bring the voices of two Canary-birds to an accord 
with each other, while the Russians were penetrating into 
the Black Sea, — these are things which cannot be too se- 
verely condemned, — such men ought indeed to be dis- 
carded into the middling ranks of society, that they may 
abandon themselves to their frivolous pursuits, without 
the state being thereby endangered. But observe that it 
h not their love of letters which renders them unfit to be 
public functionaries, it is their want of capacity ; the cul- 
tivation of letters may, on the contrary, make them feel the 
incapacity which the ignorant are far from ever suspecting 
in themselves. It was thus that Christinas determined to 
abdicate royalty, the duties of which she felt herself inca- 
pable of fulfilling ; but I do not know in history of any 
great man who being called to the exercise of important 
functions, has not found literary attainments a powerful as- 
sistance in the exercise of his ministry, and acquired 
through their means, that authority of esteem which is 
even more commanding among men than force itself. I 
would wish M. de Chateaubriand to observe, that the great- 
er part of our ancient classic authors were also statesmen. 
Among the Greeks, Sophocles, Thucydides, Xenophon 8 
and Demosthenes ; among the Romans, Caesar, Cicero, 
V'arro, Cato, Seneca, the two Plinys, and Tacitus, were 
all the first magistrates in their country. I would remind 
him of a curious remark made by the sage Fleury. 
" Among the Greeks,' ' he says, "the most considerable 



ON THE MEMOIRS OF LOUIS XIV« 315 

and the most noble persons regarded the study of philoso^ 
phy and eloquence, as reflecting honour upon them. Py- 
thagoras was of the royal race, Plato descended by the pa- 
ternal side from king Codrus, and by his mother from 
Solon. Xenophon was one of the first captains of his 
age, and from that time letters were held in so much ho- 
nour, and became so much the distinguishing mark of 
persons of quality, that the name oftdiot, which in Greek 
properly signifies only a private man, was applied to all 
who were ignorant and uneducated. Among the race of 
the kings of Egypt, of Syria, and of Macedonia, succes- * 
sors to Alexander, were included several poets, gramma- 
rians, and philosophers. It is, indeed, very reasonable 
that in every country, those who have the most polished 
minds, who are endowed with the greatest talents, who 
have fortunes that place them above any care for the ne- 
cessaries of life, or who, being called to offices of distinc- 
tion, are required more than any others to make them* 
selves useful to society, should devote their leisure hours 
to the sciences, should endeavour to extend their talents 
and their knowledge. 

" It is very singular, that Cardinal Fleury, born in an 
obscure station, should consider learning as the peculiar 
portion of distinguished rank, while M. de Chateaubriand, 
whose name belongs to the class of ancient nobility, would 
spurn it to the lower classes of society. Shall we say 
that this is in him the remains of prejudices imbibed in 
his infancy, prejudices of which the most enlarged minds 
can scarcely ever wholly divest themselves? Or would he 
recur to the times when a country squire living in his 
gloomy mansion, despised every gentleman, who, instead 
of being a sportsman, cultivated letters. 

" The ridicule which our comic poets have endea* 
voured to excite never was general* The love of letters 



516 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS. 

has always distinguished the chiefs of the state ; our lite- 
rature, indeed, included in its origin some most illustrious 
names. The first Troubadours were princes and knights, 
as William Duke of Aquitaine, Theobald Count of 
Champagne, Louis Duke of Orleans, Rene Comt of Pro- 
vence, and Gaston de Foix sovereign of Beam. The 
whole house of Valois were celebrated for their love of li- 
terature and the fine arts ; this was equally the case with 
the house of Foix, and the sister of Lautrec who was of 
this family, the celebrated Countess de Chateaubriand, 
perhaps carried into her husband's family, that, love of let- 
ters which has become hereditary in it. Flechier pro- 
nounces the eulogium of Madam de Montausier, who„ 
" born of the ancient house of Chateaubriand, and become 
a widow, restraining transcendent beauty, and the prime 
of youth under the laws of an austere virtue and an exact 
modesty, sacrificed all the pleasures of life to the educa- 
tion of her children." She formed the heart of that Mon- 
tausier, who was judged worthy to share with Bossuet the 
charge of educating a king. Was it for the author of the 
Genius of Christianity, to despise this distinguished 
branch of his ancestors. 

" Who among us, in reading the works of De Thou, 
of Sully, of Rochefoucault, of Malherbe, of Fenelon, of 
Montesquieu, of Malesherbes, and of Montaigne, could 
recur to the idea that the origin of their house is lost in the 
remoteness of time. We will keep an account of what 
they have left behind to live after them, not of what their 
ancestors have done before them. I will venture to assert, 
that posterity may very possibly forget the existence of a 
M. de Chateaubriand who was counsellor to the discreet 
Charles V, and of another who was in the army of Henry 
IV, but that it will never forget the author of the Genius 
nf Christian tu 



ON THE MEMOIRS OF LOUIS XIV. 317 

" I hope M. de Chateaubriand will pardon me, for 
having thus broke a lance with him, in honour of letters, 
and that he will excuse me if, in defiance of the usages of 
chivalry, I do not raise up the vizor of my casque.'' 

To this Letter M. de Chateaubriand answered by the 
following Dissertation upon Men oj Letters, 



318 



ON MEN OF LETTERS. 



THE Defence of the Genius of Christianity* has 
been hitherto the only answer I have made to all the criti- 
cisms with which the world has thought proper to honour 
me. I have the happiness, or the misfortune, to find my 
name brought forward pretty often, in polemical works, 
in pamphlets, in satires. When the criticism is just I 
correct myself, when it is jocose I laugh, when it is gross 
I forget it. A new antagonist has just entered the lists, 
calling himself a Bearnese Chevalier. It is singular that 
this Chevalier reproaches me with Gothic prejudices and 
a contempt of letters. I will acknowledge freely that I 
cannot think of the days of chivalry with calmness and in- 
difference, and that when I hear of tournaments, of chal- 
lenges, of strifes, of single combats, lam ready, like Don 
Quixote, to arm myself and run about the country as a 
champion for the redress of wrongs. I come then to 
answer the challenge of my adversary. I might, indeed, 
refuse to exchange the stroke of a lance with him since he 
has not declared his name, nor raised the vizor of his 
casque after the first thrust ; but, in consideration of his 
having observed the other laws of the joust, religiously, 

* The Editor hopes that the reader will not be sorry to find 
Ids Defence at the end of the present collection. 



ON MEN OF LETTERS. SI9 

by carefully avoiding to strike at the head or the hearty I 
will consider him as a loyal knight and take up his 
gage. 

And yet what is the subject of our quarrel. Are we 
about to fight, as, indeed, was by no means uncommon 
among the preux chevaliers, without knowing why. I 
am very ready to maintain that the lady of my heart is in- 
comparably more beautiful than the mistress of my ad- 
versary ; but how, if by chance we should both serve the 
same fair ? This is in fact the case. I am in good truth 
of the same opinion with the Bearnese Chevalier ', or rather 
my love is directed to the same object, and like him I am 
ready to prosecute, as a felon, any one who shall dare to 
make an attack on the Muses. 

Let us change our language and come to the fact. I 
will venture to say that the critic who attacks me with so 
much taste, learning, and politeness, but perhaps with a 
little pique, has not understood my idea. When I ob- 
ject to kings intermeddling in the strifes of Parnassus, am 
I very much m the wrong. A king ought undoubtedly 
to love letters, even to cultivate them to a certain extent, 
and to protect them in his states. But is it necessary that 
he should write books ? Can the sovereign judge ex- 
pose himself without inconvenience to be judged ? Is it 
good that a monarch should, like an ordinary man, make 
the world acquainted with the exact measure of his ta- 
lents, and throw himself upon the indulgence of his sub- 
jects in a preface ? It seems to me that the Gods ought 
not to shew themselves so unmasked to mankind : Ho- 
mer places a barrier of clouds at the gate of Olympus. 

As to the other expression, that an author ought to be 
taken from the ordinary ranks of society ', I ask pardon 
of my censor, but I did not mean to imply the sense in 
which he takes it. In the place where it is introduced it 
relates only to kings ; it can relate only to kings, I am, 



320 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS. 

not absurd enough to desire that letters should be aban- 
doned exactly to the illiterate part of society ; they do not 
belong exclusively to any particular class, they are the re- 
source of all who think; they are not an attribute of rank 
but a distinction of mind. I am very well aware that 
Montaigne, Malherbe, Descartes, La Rochefoucault, 
Fenelon, Bossuet, La Bruyere, even Boileau, Montes- 
quieu and Buffon belonged more or less to the ancient 
body of the nobility, either by the sword, or by the gown. 
I know well that a fine genius cannot dishonour an illus- 
trious name ; but, since my critic will force me to say 
it, I think there is far less danger in cultivating the Muses 
in an obscure station, than in an elevated one. The man 
who has nothing particularly to attract observation ex- 
poses little to the danger of shipwreck ; if he do not suc- 
ceed in letters, his mania of writing will not have depriv- 
ed him of any real advantage, and his rank of author for- 
gotten ; nothing will be added to the natural obscurity 
which attended him in another career. 

It is not the same with one who holds a distinguished 
place in the world, whether from his fortune, his dignity, 
or the recollections attached to his ancestors. Such a 
man would do well to balance for a long time before he 
enters the lists where a fall would be fatal. A moment of 
vanity may destroy the happiness of his whole life. When 
we have much to lose, we ought not to write, unless 
forced into it, as it were, by our genius, and awed by the 
presence of the god : fera corda domans. A great talent 
is a great reason, and we may answer to all with glory,. 
But if we do not feel in ourselves this mens divinior, let us 
take good heed against that itch which may seize us for 
writing. 

Nor be, tho* strongly urg'd, the name in haste 
Of honest man, which now you bear, laid ilowr 

While that of wretched author is embrae'd 
Giv'n by a sordid printer's voice alone. 



ON MEN OF LETTERS. 321 

If I should catch some Duguesclin rhyming, without 
the consent of Apollo, some wretched poem, I should 
exclaim : "Sir Bcrtrand change your pen for the iron 
sword of the good Constable. When you shall be on 
the breach remember to invoke, like your ancestor, Our 
Lady of Guesclin. This is not the muse who sings 
towns taken, but who inspires the soul to take them." 

On the contrary, if a member of one of those families 
who make a figure in our history were to come before the 
world in an Essay full of strength, of fire, of solidity, do 
not fear that I should attempt to check and discourage 
him. Although his opinions should be directly in op- 
position to my own, though his book should wound not 
only my mind but my heart, I should see nothing but 
the talent displayed ; I should be sensible to nothing but 
the merit of the work ; I should gladly take the young 
writer by the hand and introduce him in his new career'; 
my experience should point out to him the rock on which 
he might split, and like a good brother in arms I should 
rejoice at his success. 

I hope that the Chevalier who attacks me will ap- 
prove these sentiments ; but that is not sufficient, I will 
not leave him in any doubt with respect to my modes of 
thinking on the subject of letters and of those who culti- 
vate them. This will lead me into a discussion of some 
extent ; may the interest which the subject involves ob- 
tain my pardon for being diffuse. 

Ah, how could I calumniate letters ! — I must be un- 
grateful indeed since they have toned the charm of my 
life. I have had my misfortunes ike others ; for we may 
say of chagrins amongst mankind what Lucretius says of 
the torch of life : 

Quasi cursoresy vital lamfiada tradunt. 

Sut I have always found in study noble reasons, which 
Ss 



322 ESSAYS Oft VARIOUS SUBJECTS. 

enabled me patiently to support my troubles. Often, 
seated by the side of a road in Germany, not knowing 
what was next to become my lot, I have forgot my trou- 
bles, and the authors of my troubles, in thinking over 
some agreeable chimera which the compassionate muses 
presented to my fancy. I carried my manuscript with 
nie, as my sole wealth, in wandering over the deserts of 
the New World ; and more than once the pictures of na- 
ture traced in an indian hut have consoled me at the door 
of a cottage in Westphalia, when entrance was refused 
me. 

Nothing can so effectually dissipate the troubles of 
the heart as study, nothing can so well restore to perfect 
concord the harmonies of the soul. When, fatigued 
With the storms of thew T orld, we take refuge in the sanctu- 
ary of the Muses, we feel that we breathe a more tranquil 
air, and the spirits are soon calmed by its benign influ- 
ence. Cicero had witnessed the calamities of his country ; 
he had seen in Rome the executioner seated with the 
victim who, by a fortunate chance alone had escaped his 
sword, and enjoying the same consideration as that vic- 
tim, — he had seen the hand that was bathed with the 
blood of the citizens, and that which had been only raised 
for their defence pressed with equal cordiality ; — he had 
seen virtue become a subject of scandal in the days of 
guilt, as guilt is an object of horror in the days of virtue ; 
■ — he had seen the degenerate Romans pervert the lan- 
guage of Scipio to excuse their degeneracy, calling resolu- 
tion obstinacy, generosity folly, courage imprudence, and 
seeking an interested motive for honourable actions that 
they might not have the sweet sensation of esteeming 
something ; — he had seen his friends by degrees grow 
cold to him, their hearts repel the warm effusions of his 
own, his pains cease to be theirs, their opinions become 
estranged from his, till carried away, or broke by the 



ON MEN OF LETTERS. 323 

Wheel of Fortune, he was left by them in a profound so- 
litude. To these pains so great, so difficult to be borne 
were added domestic chagrins : " My daughter remain- 
ed to me," he writes to Sulpitius, " that was a constant 
support, one to which I could always have recourse ; 
the charm of her society made me almost forget my 
troubles ; but the frightful wound which I have received 
in losing her, uncloses again all those I had thought 
healed. I am driven from my house, and from the 
Forum. 

And what did Cicero do in a situation so lamentable ? 
—-he had recourse to study. " I have reconciled myself 
with my books," says he to Varro, " they invite me to a 
renewal of our ancient intercourse ; they tell me that you 
have been wiser than me in never having forsaken them/* 

The Muses, who permit us to chuse our society, are 
above all a powerful resource in times of political chagrin. 
When fatigued with living in the midst of the Tigelli- 
nusses, and the Narcissusses, they transport us into the 
society of the Catos and the Fabricii. For what con- 
cerns the pains of the heart, though study cannot indeed 
restore to us the friends whose loss we deplore, it softens 
the chagrins occasioned by the separation, in mingling 
the recollection of them with all the purest sentiments of 
life, with all the most sublime images of nature. 

Let us now examine the accusations urged against 
men of letters, most of which appear to me unfounded ; 
mediocrity often consoles itself by calumny. It is urged 
that men of letters are not fit for the transaction ofbusU 
Tiess. Strange idea! that the genius, requisite to pro- 
duce the spirit of the laws was deficient to conduct the 
office of a minister. What ? cannot those who sound so 
ably the depths of the human heart unravel the intrigues 
arising from the passions around them ? The more we 
know men, the less are we to be considered capable of 



324 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS. 

governing them ?*— But this is a sophism which all expe- 
rience contradicts. The two greatest statesmen of anti- 
quity, Demosthenes, and still more Cicero, were men of 
letters in the most rigid sense of the term. Never, per- 
haps did a finer literary genius than Csesar exist, and it 
appears that this descendant of Anchises and Venus un- 
derstood tolerably well how to conduct business. We 
may cite in England Sir Thomas More, Lords Claren- 
don, Bacon and Bolingbroke ; in France MM. de L. 
Hopital, Lamoignon, d'Aguesseau, Malesherbes, and the 
greater part of those first ministers who have been fur- 
nished by the church. Nothing could persuade me that 
Bossuet's was not a head capable of conducting a king- 
dom, nor that the severe and judicious Boileau would not 
have made an excellent administrator. 

Judgment and good sense are the two qualities neces- 
sarv above all others to a statesman, and it is to be re- 
marked that they are also those which ought to predo- 
minate in a literary head well organized. Fancy and ima- 
gination, are not, as people are too apt to suppose, the 
proper bases of true talent, it is good sense, I repeat it s 
good sense, with a happy turn of expression. Every 
work of imagination, must be short-lived if the ideas 
are deficient in a certain logical precision binding them 
in a connected chain, and giving the reader the pleasure 
of reason even in the midst of trifling. Cast your eyes 
over the most celebrated works in our literature ; after a 
strict examination you will find that this superiority is de- 
rived irom a latent good sense, from admirable reason- 
ing ; those are as it were the skeleton of the edifice. 
Whatever is false in itself, finishes by displeasing ; man 
has within him a native principle of uprightness which 
cannot be offended with impunity. Thence comes it 
that the works of the sophists can never obtain more than 
a transient success ; they shine at first with a false lustre, 
and are soon lost in oblivion. 



OK MEN* OP LETTERS. 325 

The idea which we are examining, respecting men of 
letter's, has only been entertained because authors of or- 
dinary capacities have been confounded with authors of 
real merit. The first class are not incapable beeause they 
are men of letters, but merely because their capacities are 
ordinary ; and this is an excellent remark made by my 
critic. It is precisely in the two qualities which I have 
mentioned, judgment and good sense, that their works 
are deficient. You will perhaps find in them flashes of 
genius or imagination, a certain knowledge, more or less, 
of the trade, a habit more or less formed of arranging 
words, and turning periods, but never will you find a 
stroke of good sense. 

These writers have not strength to bring forth an idea 
scvhich they have a moment before conceived. When 
you think they are about to take the right path, an evil 
demon interposes and leads them astray ; they change 
:their course instantly, and passing by great beauties with- 
out perceiving them, they mingle together indiscriminate- 
ly under the influence of chance alone, without oeconomy 
and without judgment, the grave, the sweet, the jocose, 
the severe ; we know not what they .aim at proving, to- 
wards whajt point their march is directed, what truths they 
mean to enforce. I will readily agree that such minds 
are not in any way fit to conduct public business, but I 
shall ascribe the blame to nature, not to letters ; above 
all things I should be careful not to confound such unfor- 
tunate authors with men of real genius. 

But if the first literary talents may be capable of filling 
with glory the first places in the country, Heaven forbid 
that I should recommend to them ever to aspire to those 
places. The greater part of men of high- birth might 
conduct the public ministry as well as they would ; but 
no one could replace the fine works of which posterity 
would be deprived, by their devoting themselves to other 



326 ESSAYS «N VARIOVS SUBJECTS. 

cares. Is it not now much more for our advantage and 
for his own, that Racine created with his hand such pom- 
pons wonders, than that he should have filled, even with 
the highest distinction, the places of Luovois and Colbert, 
I wish that men of talents understood better their high 
destiny ; that they knew how to set a more just value 
upon the gifts they have received from Heaven, It is 
not conferring a favour on them to invest them with 
the great offices of state, it is they who in accepting 
these offices make an important sacrifice to the country, 
and confer an essential favour upon it. 

Let others expose themselves to storms, I counsel the 
lovers of study to contemplate them from the shore. 
w The sea- shore shall become a place of repose for the 
shepherds," says the scriptures : erit Jiinicles movis re- 
quies pastor um. Let us hear, farther, the Roman orator*, 
" I esteem the days that you pass at Tusculum, my dear 
Varro, as much as the whole duration of life, and I would 
willingly renounce all the riches of the earth to obtain the 
liberty of constantly spending my time sp ddiciously. . . „ 
I imitate it at least, as much as lies in my power, and I 
seek my repose with true satisfaction in my belpved stu- 
dies. . . .If the great have judged that, in favour of these 
studies, my attention to public affairs may be dispensed 
with, why should I not choose so sweet an occupation." 

In a career foreign to their manners and habits, men 
of letters will find nothing but the ills of ambition, they 
will experience none of its pleasures. More delicate than 
other men, how must that delicacy be wounded a hun- 
dred times in the day. What horrible things must they 
have to devour ; with what a set of people must they be 
obliged to live, and even to smile upon them. Always a 
mark for the jealousies which true talents never fail to ex- 
cite, they must be incessantly exposed to calumnies and 
denunciations of every kind. They will find even in thr*. 



*V MEtf OK lETtERS. 327 

frankness, the simplicity, the elevation of their characters 
dangerous rocks on which they may be wrecked ; their vir- 
tues will do more harm than their vices, their genius itseff 
will plunge them into snares, which ordinary men would 
avoid. Happy if they find some favourable opportunity for 
returning into solitude before death, or exile, interposes, to 
punish them for having sacrificed their talents to the ingra- 
titude of courts. 

I know not whether I ought here to advert to certain 
jokes which the world has been in the habit of applying to 
men of letters even from the days of Horace. He who 
has celebrated Lalage and Lydia relates, that he threw his 
buckler before him, on the fields of Phiilipi ; but the able 
courtier boasts, and his verses have been taken too literal- 
ly. Thus much, however, is certain, that he speaks of 
death with a charm so engaging with a turn of such mild 
and sweet philosophy, that we could with difficulty per- 
suade ourselves he had any fears of it : 

Eheu, fugaces, Posthume, Posthuthe, 
Labuntur anni ! 

Be this as it may with respect to the voluptuous solita^ 
ry of Tibur, Xenophon and Caesar, two eminent literary 
geniuses, were great Captains ; Eschylus performed prodi- 
gies of valour at Salamis ; Socrates yielded the prize of va- 
lour only to Alcibiades ; Tibullus was distinguished in 
the legions of Messala : Petronius and Seneca are celebrated 
for the firmness they shewed in death. In modern times 
Dante lived in the midst of battles, and Tasso was one of 
the bravest among the knights. Our ancient Malherbe, 
at seventy-three years of age, wanted to have fought the 
murderer of his son. Subdued as he was by time, he 
went to the siege of Rochelle expressly to obtain from 
Louis XIII permission to summon the chevalier de Piles 



328 ESSAYS ON -VARIOUS SUBJECTS. 

to single combat. La Rochefoucault had made war upon: 
kings. From time immemorial our officers of the engi- 
neers and of the Artillery, so brave at the, cannon's mouth, 
have cultivated letters, most of them with success, some 
with renown. It is well known that the Breton Saint - 
Foix would not pass over any reflection cast upon- him ; 
and another Breton, distinguished in our days as the first, 
grenadier of our armies occupied himself all his life with 
literary researches. Finally, the men of letters who have 
been cut off in our revolution have all displayed the ut- 
most courage and resolution at the moment of death. If 
it be permitted to judge by oneself, I should say with the 
frankness natural to the descendants of the ancient Celts,- 
soldier, traveller, proscribed, shipwrecked, I never found 
that the love of letters attached me unreasonably to life. 
To obey the decrees of religion and honour, it suffices to, 
be a Christian and a Frenchman. 

Men of letters, it is farther said, have always flattered 
people in power ; and, according to the vicissitudes of for- 
tune, have come forth alternately to celebrate virtue or to 
eulogize crimes ; to offer incense to the oppressor and the 
oppressed. Lucan said to Nero, speaking of the proscrip- 
tions, and of the civil war : 



But if our fates severely have decreed 
No way but this for Nero to succeed j 
If only thus our heroes can be Gods 
And earth must pay for their divine abodes ; 
If heav'n could not the Thunderer obtain 
Till Giant's wars made room for Jove to reign 
s Tis just, ye Gods, nor ought we to complain. 
Opprest with death tho' dire Pharsalia groan 
Tho' Latian blood the Punic ghosts atone, 
Tho* Pompey's hapless sons renew the war, 
And Munda view the slaughter'd fleets from far ; 
Tho' meagre famine in Perusia reign 
The* Mutina with battles fill the plain. 



} 



ON MEN 05 LETTERS. 329 

Tho 5 Lenca's isle, and wide Ambracia's bay 

Record the rage of Actium's fatal day, 

Tho* servile hands are arm'd to man the fleet. 

And on Sicilian seas the navies meet, 

All crimes, all horrors, we with joy regard 

Since thou, oh Caesar, art the great reward. 

Lucan's Fharsalia, Book I, 

In all this I have nothing to say by way of excuse for 
the men of letters ; I bow my head with shame and con- 
fusion, acknowledging like the physician in Macbeth, 
that this disease is beyond my practice, 

Therein the patient 
Must Minister unto himself. 

Yet may not something be said in extenuation of thi$ 
degradation ; it is indeed a poor argument that I am go* 
ing to offer, but it is drawn from the very nature of the 
human heart. Shew me in the revolutions of empires, in 
those unhappy times when a whole people, like a corpse, 
shew no signs of life, — shew me I say any entire class of 
men who remain unshaken, ever faithful to their honour, 
and who have not yielded to the force of events, to the 
weariness of suffering ; — if such a class can be shewn, 
then will I pass sentence on the men of letters. But if 
you cannot find me this order of generous citizens, no 
longer let so heavy an accusation fall exclusively upon 
the favourites of the Muses ; mourn over human nature 
at large. The only difference which subsists between the 
writer and the ordinary man is that the turpitude of the 
first is known, and that the baseness of the latter is, from 
his insignificance, concealed. Happy, in effect, in such 
times of slavery, is the ordinary man who may be mean 
with security, who may with impunity grovel in the mire, 
certain that his incapacity will preserve him from being 

Tt 



330 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS. 

handed down to posterity, that his meanness will never be 
known beyond the present moment. 

It remains for me to speak of literary renown; it 
marches in equal pace with that of kings and heroes. 
Homer and Alexander, Virgil and Caesar, equally occu- 
py the voice of Fame. Let us say more, the glory of the 
Muses is the only one in which nothing accessary has 
any share. A part of the renown, acquired in arms, may 
be reflected on the soldiers, may be ascribed to fortune ; 
Achilles conquered the Trojans by the assistance of the. 
Greeks ; but Homer composed the Iliad unassisted by 
any one, and but for him we should not know of the ex- 
istence of Achilles. For the rest I am so far from hold- 
ing letters in the contempt imputed to me, that I would 
not easily yield up the feeble portion of renown which 
they seem to promise to my humble efforts. I cannot 
reproach myself with any one having ever been impor- 
tuned by my pretensions ; but, since it must be confes- 
sed, I am not insensible to the applauses of my fellow- 
countrymen, and I should be wanting in the just pride 
due to my country, if I considered as nothing the honour 
of having added one to the number of French names held 
in esteem among foreign nations. 

I here conclude this apology for men of letters* I 
hope that the Bearnese Chevalier will be satisfied with 
my sentiments ; Heaven grant that he may be so with 
my style ; for, between ourselves, I suspect him to be 
somewhat more conversant in literature than entirely suits 
with a Chevalier of the old times. If I must say all I 
think, it appears to me that in attacking my opinions he 
has only been defending his own cause. His example 
will prove, in case it be necessary, that a man who has 
enjoyed a high distinction in the political orders, and in 
the first clashes of society, may still be eminent for his 
r mg; a discerning and elegant critic^ a writer full of 



Qtt MEN OF LETTERS. 331 

amenity, and a poet full of talents. These Chevalers of 
Beam have always courted the Muses, and we have not 
forgotten a certain Henry who, besides that he fought 
not amiss, when he quitted his fair Gabrielle lamented 
their separation in verse. Since, however, my antago- 
nist does not chnse to discover himself, I will avoid men- 
tioning any name ; I would only have him understand 
that I have recognized his colours. 

The men of letters, whom I have endeavoured to res- 
cue from the contempt of the ignorant must, in their turn 
excuse me, if I finish by addressing a few words of ad- 
vice to them, in which I am ready, myself, to take an 
ample share. Would we force calumny to be silent, and 
attract the esteem even of our enemies, let us lay aside 
that pride and those immoderate pretensions which ren- 
dered our class so insupportable in the last century. 
Let us be moderate in our opinions ; indulgent in our 
criticisms; sincere admirers of whatever deserves to be 
admired. Full of respect for what is noble in our art, let 
us never debase our character ; let us not complain of 
destiny, he who complains draws contempt upon him- 
self; let the muses alone, not the public, know whether 
we are rich or poor ; the secret of our indigence ought 
to be kept the most carefully of any of our secrets ; let 
the unfortunate be sure to find a support in us, we are 
the natural defenders of all supplicants ; our noblest right 
is that of drying the' tears occasioned by sorrow, and 
drawing tears down the cheeks of prosperity : Dolor ipse 
disertum fecerat. Let us never prostitute our talents to 
power ; but let us not, on the other hand, ever rail against 
it ; he who condemns with bitterness is very likely to 
applaud without discernment ; there is but one step be- 
tween complaint and adulation. In short, for the sake 
of our own glory and for that of our works, we cannot 
too much attach ourselves to virtue ; it is the beau- 



332 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS. 

ty of the sentiments which creates beauty of style. 
When the soul is elevated the words fall from on high, 
and nobleness of expression will always follow nobleness 
of thought. Horace and the Stagyrite do not teach the 
Avhole of the art : there are delicacies and mysteries of 
language which can only be communicated to the writer 
by the probity of his own heart, and which can never be 
taught by the precepts of rhetoric*. 



33: 



SPEECH 

COMPOSED BY M. DE CHATEAUBRIAND 

For his reception as a Member of the Imperial Institute 
of France.* 



WHEN Milton published his Paradise Lost not a 
single voice was raised in the three kingdoms, of Great 
Britain, to praise a work which, notwithstanding that it 
abounds with defects, is one of the grandest efforts ever 
produced by the human mind. The English Homer 
died forgotten, and his cotemporaries left to posterity the 
charge of immortalizing him who had sung the Garden 
of Eden. 

* M. de Chateaubriand was elected a member of the Institute 
In France, in the year 1811, in the place of M. Chenier, a poet 
well known for the part he took in the French revolution. Ac- 
cording to custom the recipient was to pronounce the eulogium of 
his predecessor ; but the friends of M. Chenier knowing how much 
the memory of the deceased had to fear from the eloquence of 
M. de Chateaubriand, insisted that the speech of the latter should 
be communicated to the Institute before it was delivered. It was 
found, on examination, to be little honourable to M. Chenier, and 
M. de Chateaubriand was not admitted. His speech, however, 
though never published was copied by all Paris. 

Mote by the Editor. 



334> ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS. 

Is this one of those instances of great literary in- 
justice which are afforded by almost all ages ? — No ! — 
Scarcely breathing from the civil wars the English could 
not resolve to celebrate the memory of a man who had 
distinguished himself so much in the days of calamity by 
the ardour of his opinions. " What shall we reserve, J; 
said they, " for him who devotes himself to the safety of 
the state, if we lavish honours upon the ashes of a citizen 
who can, at the most, expect from us only a generous 
forbearance. Posterity will do justice to the works of 
Milton, but for us, we owe a lesson tQ our sons. We 
ought to teach them, by our silence, that talents are a 
fetal present when united with violent passions, and that 
we had far better condemn ourselves to obscurity, than 
acquire fame through the misfortunes of our country." 

Shall I, Gentlemen, imitate this memorable example, 
or speak to you of the character and works of M. Che- 
nier? — To reconcile your customs and your opinions, I 
think I ought to take a middle course between absolute 
silence, and too close an examination. But whatever may 
be my words, no gall shall be mingled with them ; if you 
find in me the frankness of my countryman Duclos, I 
hope I shall prove to you that I have also his moderation. 
It would be curious, without doubt, to see what a 
man in my situation, with my opinions, my principles, 
could say of him to whose post I am this day raised ; it 
would be interesting to examine the influence of revolu- 
tions upon literary attainments, to show how systems may 
lead talents astray, seducing them into deceitful paths 
which seem to lead to renown, but terminate in oblivion 
If Milton, in spite of his political errors, has left works 
that posterity admire, it is that Milton, without forsaking 
his errors, retired from a society which was retiring from 
him, to seek in religion the only resource for soothing his 
misfortunes, and to render it the source of his glory. 



SFEECH OF M. DE CHATEAUBRIAND^ 33$ 

Deprived of the light of Heaven, he created himself a new 
earth, a new sun, and quitted, as it were, the world, in 
which he had experienced nothing but crimes and cala- 
mities. He seated in the bowers of Eden that primitive 
innocence, that holy felicity which reigned in the tents of 
Jacob and Rachael, and he placed in hell the torments, the 
passions, the remorse of those men in whose fury he had 
been a sharer. 

Unhappily the works of M. Chenier, although they 
display the germ of eminent talent, do not shine with the- 
same simplicity, with the same sublime majesty. This 
author distinguished himself by a mind purely classical ; 
no one was better acquainted with the principles of anci- 
ent and modern literature. The drama, eloquence, histo- 
ry, criticism, satire, all were embraced by him, but his 
writings bear the impression of the disastrous times in 
which they received their birth. I found myself then, 
Gentlemen, obliged either to be silent, or to enter into 
political discussions. 

There are some persons who would make of literature, 
an abstract science, and insulate it in the midst of humau 
affairs. Such will perhaps say to me : " Why keep si- 
lence ? Consider M. Chenier only, with regard to his li- 
terary character;" — that is to say. Gentlemen^ that I must 
trespass upon your patknce and upon my own, to repeat 
to you those common place things which are to be found 
every where, and which you know even better than my- 
self. Other times, other manners.— Heirs of a long series 
of peaceable years, our forefathers might resign them 
selves to questions purely academic, which did not so 
much prove their talents as their happiness. But we, the 
unfortunate remains of a vast shipwreck, we want the 
means of tasting a calm so perfect ; our ideas and our 
minds have taken a different course ; the man has in us. 
superseded the academician ; in depriving letters of al! 



536 ESSAYS ON VARIOtJS SUBJECTS. 

that rendered the pursuit of them easy, we no longer con- 
template them but through our powerful recollections, 
and the experience of our adversity. What ? after a re- 
volution which has made us run through the events of 
many ages in a few years, shall a writer be precluded en- 
tering on all moral considerations ; shall he be forbidden 
to examine the serious side of objects ; shall he pass a 
frivolous life in agitating grammatical niceties and rules* 
of taste, in dissecting trifling literary periods and phrases ; 
shall he grow grey, bound in the swathes of his infancy ; 
shall he not show at the close of his days a countenance 
furrowed by those long labours, those grave thoughts, 
often by those masculine griefs which add to the greatness 
of man. What important cares shall then have whitened 
his hair? — the miserable anxieties of self-love, and the 
puerile sports of wit and fancy. 

Certainly, gentlemen, this would be to treat us with 
a strange degree of contempt ; for my own part, I cannot 
demean myself, nor reduce myself to a state of childhood, 
at an age of vigour and reason ; I cannot confine myself 
in the narrow circle that they would draw around an au- 
thor. If, for example, I would pronounce the eulogium 
of the man of letters, of the man of superior mind who 
presides in this assembly,* think you that I could be con- 
tented simply to praise in him that light ingenious French 
spirit, which he received from his mother, and of which 
he presents among us the most engaging model ? — No 
undoubtedly ; — I should decorate with all its lustre, the 
great name which he bears ; I should cite the Duke de 
Boufflers, who made the Austrians raise the siege of 
Genoa ; I should speak of the marshal, father of that 
warrior, who disputed the ramparts of Lille with the 
enemies, ©f France, and consoled by that memorable de- 

* M. de BoufHer? 



SPEECH OF M. BE CHATEAUBRIAND. 337 

fence, the old age of a great king. It was of this com- 
panion of Turenne that Madame de Maintenon said, 
the heart was in him the last thing that died. Nor should 
I omit to remount to Louis de Boufllers, called the jRobiist, 
who shewed in the fight the vigour and courage of Her- 
cules. Thus should I find at the two extremities of this 
military family, strength and grace, the Knight and the 
Troubadour. The French are reputed to be the descend- 
ants of Hector ; I should rather believe them the off- 
spring of Achilles, since, like that hero, they are equally- 
skilful with the lyre, and with the sword. 

If, gentlemen, I would entertain you with the cele- 
brated poet who sung nature so enchantingly,* think you 
that I could confine myself to remarking the admirable 
flexibility of a talent which knows how to render with 
equal success, the regular beauties of Virgil, and the in- 
correct beauties of Milton ? — Undoubtedly not. I 
should also display this celebrated poet as resolving not to 
separate himself from his unfortunate countrymen, but 
following them with his lyre to foreign shores, consoling 
them by singing their griefs. Illustrious exile ! in the 
midst of a crowd of unknown exiles, to the number of 
which I myself added ; it is true that his age, his infirmi- 
ties, his talents, his glory, could not shelter him from per- 
secution ; fain would they have made him sing verses un- 
worthy of his name, — his muse could only sing the fright* 
ful immortality of crime, the consoling immortality of 
virtue. 

If, finally, gentlemen, I would speak to you of a friend 
very dear to my heart,| of one of those friends who, ac- 
cording to Cicero, render prosperity more brilliant, and 
Ighten adversity ; I should undoubtedly speak of th$ 
noble harmony of his verses, which, formed on th£ 

* M. l'Abbe Sicard. 

t M. de Fontanes, then Grand Master of the University, 
Uu 



338 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS. 

great models, are nevertheless distinguished by a tone 
perfectly original ; I should speak with eulogy, of su- 
perior talents which never knew a feeling of envy ; of ta- 
lents rejoicing no less in the success of others than in his 
own ; of those talents which for ten years have felt every 
honour attained by me with that profound and lively joy 
known only to the most amiable character, and to the 
warmest friendship ; — all this I should celebrate, but I 
could not omit the political part of my friend's life, I 
should paint him at the head of one of the first bodies in 
the state, delivering speeches which are models of gran- 
deur, of moderation, and of amenity. I should represent 
him as sacrificing the sweet intercourse with the Muses ; 
to occupations which have no charm but the hope of 
training up, to the state, children capable of following 
the glorious steps of their ancestors, while they avoid 
their errors. 

In speaking then of the persons of talent, who com- 
pose this assembly, I could never forbear considering 
them under their moral and social relations. The one is 
distinguished by a refined, delicate, and sagacious mind,, 
by an urbanity very rare in these times, and still more 
by the most honourable respect for modern opinions ; 
another, under the frost of age, has found the fire of youth 
in pleading the cause of the unfortunate. This latter, 
an elegant historian, and a pleasing poet, receives added 
elaims to our respect from the recollection of a father and 
son mutilated in the service of their country ; that son, 
giving hearing to the deaf, and speech to the dumb, re- 
cals to our mind the wonders of evangelical worship, to 
which he has consecrated himself.* Are there not 
many among you, gentlemen, who can relate to the heir 
of Chancellor d'Aguesseau, how much the name of his an- 

* M. l'Abbc Sicard. 



SPEECH OP M. DE CHATEAUBRIAND. 339 

ccstor was in former times the subject of admiration in 
this society. 

I pass on to the nursling of the nine sisters, and I 
perceive the venerable author of CEdipus, in the solitude 
of Sophocles.* How much ought we to love these chil- 
dren of Melpomene who have rendered the misfortunes 
of our fathers so interesting to us. Every French heart 
shuddered at the presage of the death of Henry IV ; the 
tragic muse has re-established these preux- chevaliers so 
basely betrayed by history. 

From our modern Euripides descending to the suc- 
cessors of Anacreon, I pause at the recollection of that 
amiable man, who, like the poet of Theos, after fifteen lus- 
tra, revised the songs which his muse had produced at fif- 
teen years. I will even go, gentlemen, as far as the stormy 
seas, formerly guarded by the giant Adrancastor, whose 
waves were appeased by the charming names of EJeonora 
and Virginia,-)* to exalt your fame.— Tibi rident cequora 
ponti. 

Alas ! too many persons of talent among you, have 
been strangers and wanderers on the earth. Has not 
poetry sung the art of Neptune in the most harmonious 
verses ; that fatal art which transports us to foreign shores. 
Shall not French eloquence, after having defended the 
state and the altar, retire, as to its source, into the country 
of Ambrose and of Chrysostom. 

Why can I not include all the members of thisacade- 
my in a picture where flattery has not embellished the 
colours. For if it be true, that envy sometimes obscures 
the estimable qualities which adorn men of letters, It is 
even more true that this class of men have commonly dis- 
tinguished themselves by a hatred of oppression, by devo- 
tion to friendship, and by fidelity under misfortunes. 

* M. Duels, 
t The Chevalier dc Parny and M. Bernardin de St. Pierre. 



S40 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS, 

It is thus, gentlemen, that I please myself with con- 
sidering a subject under all its forms, and that I love a- 
bove all things to give importance to letters, by applying 
them to the highest objects of philosophy and morals. 
Feeling this independence of mind, I must abstain from 
examining works on which it is impossible for me to 
touch without irritating the passions. If I were to speak 
of the tragedy of Charles IX, could I abstain from reveng- 
ing the memory of the Cardinal of Lorraine, and discus- 
sing the lesson given to kings. Caius Gracchus, Henry 
VIII, and Fenelon, would oifer me in many respects, his- 
torical facts equally altered, for the purpose of supporting 
the same doctrines. If I turn to the satires, I find men im- 
molated, who now hold the first rank in this assembly .; 
yet these satires are written in an easy and elegant style, 
which reminds us agreeably of the school of Voltaire ; 
and I should have so much the more pleasure in praising 
them, since I myself could not escape the malice of the 
author. 

But let us turn away from the works which will give 
occasion to painful recriminations. I would not cloud 
over the memory of one who was your colleague, and of 
whom many here are still the admirers and the friends. 
He will owe to that religion which appeared to him so 
mean, in the writings of its defenders, the peace which I 
sincerely wish him to the tomb. 

But even here, Gentlemen, may I not be so unfortu- 
nate as to find myself among dangerous rocks. In paying 
to the ashes of M. Chenier the tribute of respect claimed 
by all the dead, I should fear the meeting in my progress 
with the shades of many others celebrated in a. very dif- 
ferent way. If interpretations little generous, should im- 
pute this involuntary emulation to me as a crime, I must 
take refuge at. the feet of those expiatory altars which a 



SPEECH OF M. DE CH ATEAUBKIAHJ). 341 

powerful monarch is raising to the manes of injured dy- 
nasties. 

Oh how happy would it have been for M. Chenier if 
he had avoided all participation in the public calamities 
which fell at length upon his own head. He has known, 
like me, what it is to lose, among popular commotions, a 
brother tenderly beloved. What would our unfortunate 
brothers have said, if called on the same day by the so- 
vereign disposer of all things before his tribunal they had 
met at so awful a moment ?» Would they not have said : 
" Cease your intestine wars, return to sentiments of love 
and peace ; death strikes all parties equally, and your 
cruel dissensions have cost us youth and life." 

If my predecessor couldJhear these words, little consol- 
ing to his shade, he would be sensible to the homage which 
I render to his brother, for he was naturally generous. 
It was indeed this very generosity which attached him to- 
wards novelties, very seductive without doubt, since 
they promised to inspire us all with tfce virtues of a Fa. 
bricius ; but soon disappointed in his expectations, his 
temper became soured, his talents were perverted. Trans- 
ported from amidst the tumultuary scenes of faction to 
the solitary life of a poet, how could he resign himself* 
wholly to those affectionate sentiments, which constitute 
the great charm of that life. Happy had it been, if he 
had never seen any other heaven than the fine heaven of 
Greece where he was born,— if he had never contempla- 
ted any other ruins than those of Sparta and Athens. 

I might perhaps then have met with him in that beauti- 
ful country, and we might have sworn eternal friendship 
to each other on the banks of the Permessus. Or, since it 
was his destiny to return to the fields of his ancestors, why 
did he not follow me into the deserts whither I was dri- 
ven by our tempests. The silence of the forests would 
j^ave calmed diat troubled soul, and the huts of the sa- 



342 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS. 

vages might have reconciled him to the palaces of kings* 
—Vain wishes ! — M, Chenier remained upon the theatre 
of his agitations and his gifts. Attacked while yet young 
with a mortal/lisease, you saw him, gentlemen, decline 
slowly towards the tomb, and quit for ever... J have never 
heard any account of his last moments. 

We who have lived amid the troubles of revolutions, 
can none of us escape the attention of history . Who can 
flatter himself with remaining unspotted in a time of deli- 
rium when no one retained the full use of his reason. Let 
us then exercise the utmost indulgence towards each 
other ; let us excuse what we cannot approve. Such is 
the weakness of human nature, that talents, that genius, 
that virtue itself are sometimes the occasion of our over- 
stepping the bounds of duty. M. Chenier adored liber- 
ty ; can that be imputed to him as a crime. The Cheva* 
Hers themselves, if they could quit their tombs, would 
follow the superior light of our age, we should see an il- 
lustrious alliance formed between man and liberty, as un- 
der the race of Valois, the gothic battlements crowned 
with infinite grace, our monuments built according to the 
orders borrowed from Greeae. Is not liberty the greatest 
good of man, the most urgent want of man. It inflamed 
genius, it elevates the heart, it is as necessary to the friend 
of the Muses as the air which he breathes. The arts 
may, to a certain point, live in dependence, because they 
make use of a language peculiar to themselves, which is 
not understood by the multitude ; but letters, which speak 
an universal language, languish and die in chains. 

How will pages worthy of history ever be traced, if 
the writer be interdicted every magnanimous sentiment, 
every forcible and elevated thought. Liberty is so natu- 
rally the friend of the sciences and of letters, that they fly 
uith her when she is banished from among any people ; 
it is you, gentlemen, whom she charges to write her annals, 



5HEECH OF M. *>E CHATEAUBRIAND. 343 

to revenge her on her enemies, and to transmit her name 
and worship to posterity. 

That my idea may not be mistaken by any, I here 
declare that I speak of that liberty which is the child of 
order, and produced by the laws, not of that daughter of 
licentiousness, who is the mother of slavery. The au- 
thor of the tragedy of Charles IX, was not to be con- 
demned for offering up his incense to the first of these 
deities, but for believing that the rights she confers are in- 
compatible with a monarchical government. A French- 
man was always free at the foot of the throne ; it is in his 
opinions that he plabes that freedom, which others place 
in their laws. Liberty is to him a sentiment rather than a 
principle, he is a citizen by instinct, and a subject by 
choice. If the writer, whose loss you lament, had made 
this distinction, he would not have embraced with equal 
love the liberty which creates and that which destroys. 

Here, gentlemen, I conclude the task which the cus- 
toms of the academy have delegated to me. On the point 
of terminating this address, I am struck with an idea 
which afflicts me deeply. It is not long since M. Che- 
hier delivered some opinions, which he proposed to pub* 
iish, upon my works, and it is to my lot that it falls at this 
moment to judge my judge. I say it in all the sincerity 
of my heart, I had rather be still exposed to the shafts of 
satire, and live at peace in some solitude, than remind you 
by my presence here of the rapid succession of men upon 
the earth ; of the sudden appearance of that death which 
overthrows all our projects and all our hopes, which car- 
ries us or! in a moment, and sometimes consigns the care 
of our memory to men whose principles and sentiments are 
directly in opposition to our own. 

This tribunal is a sort of field of battle, where talents 
by turn shine and vanish. What variety of genius has 
passed over it ; a Comeille, a Racine, a Boileau, a La 



344 J&6SAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS. 

Bruyere, a Bossuet, a Fenelon, a Voltaire, a Buffon, a 
Montesquieu ? Who may not be alarmed, gentlemen, 
at the idea that he is about to form a link in this august 
chain ? Oppressed with the weight of these immortal 
names, not having the powers necessary to make myself 
recognized as a lawful heir, I will endeavour at least to 
prove my descent by my sentiments. When my turn 
shall arrive to yield my place to the orator who is to deli- 
*ver his oration over my tomb, he may treat my works w 7 ith 
severity, but he shall be obliged to say, that I loved my 
country passionately, that I would have suffered a thou- 
sand ills rather than have cost her a single tear, that I 
would, without hesitation, have sacrificed my life in sup- 
port of these noble sentiments, the only ones which can 
give value to life and dignity to death. 



1>£F£NC£ OF CHRISTIANITY* 345 



DEFENCE 

OF THE BEAUTIES OF CHRISTIANITY, 



The only noble answer, perhaps, that can be given 
by an author when attacked, is silence. It is at least the 
surest way of gaining credit in the public opinion. 

If a work be really good, it cannot be affected by cen- 
sure ; if it be bad, it cannot be justified by apologies. 

Convinced of these truths, the author of the Spirit of 
Christianity determined not to take any notice of the ani- 
madversions of critics, and till the present moment he has 
adhered to this resolution. He has borne praises without 
pride, and insults without discouragement : the former 
are often lavished upon mediocrity, and the latter upon 
merit. He has with perfect indifference beheld certain 
critics proceed from abuse to calumny, either because 
they ascribed the author's silence to contempt, or because 
they could not forgive him after their affronts had been 
offered to him in vain. 

Methinks I hear the reader ask : why then does the 
author now break silence? Why has he deviated from 
the rule which he laid down for himself ? To these 
questions I reply : Because it is obvious, that under the 
pretext of attacking the author, there now lurks a design 
to annihilate that little benefit which the work may be 
calculated to produce. Because it is neither his own 
person nor his own talent, real or reputed, that the author 
is about to defend, but the book itself ; and this book he 
will /defend not as literary, but as a religious work. 

Xx 



o4t> ESSAYS (JJT VARIOUS SUBJECTS. 

The Beauties of Christianity have been received by 
the public with some indulgence. At this symptom of a 
change in opinion, the spirit of sophistry took the alarm ; 
she considered it as prophetic of the approaching termina- 
tion of her too long reign. She had recourse to all her 
weapons, she took every disguise, and even assumed the 
cloak of religion, to blast a work written in behalf of reli- 
gion herself. 

Under these circumstances, the author deems it his 
duty to keep silence no longer. The same spirit which 
prompted him to write his book, now impels him to step 
forth in its defence. It is pretty evident that the critics } 
to whom he alludes in this defence, were not honest in 
their animadversions ; they pretended to misconceive the 
object of the work ; they loudly accused it of bebg pro- 
fane ; they took good care not to perceive that the author 
treated of the grandeur, the beauty, the poetry of the 
Christian religion, merely because it had been the fashion 
for half a century to insist on its meanness, absurdity, and 
barbarism. When he has explained the reasons which 
induced him to undertake the work, when he has specifi- 
ed the class of readers to whom it is particularly address- 
ed, he hopes that his intentions and the object of his la- 
bours will cease to be mistaken. The author, in his own 
opinion, cannot give a stronger proof of his devotion to 
the cause which he has espoused, than in addressing this 
reply to the critics, in spite of the repugnance which he 
has always felt for controversies of the kind. 

It has in the first place been asked, whether the author 
had a right to compose such a work. This is either a 
serious question or a sneer. If it be serious, the critic 
proves that he is not much conversant with his subject. 

Needs any one be told that in difficult times every 
Christian is a priest and confessor of Jesus Christ ?* 

* S. Nieron, Dial. c. Lucif. 



DEFENCE OF CHRISTIANITY. 347 

Most of the apologies for the Christian religion have been 
written by laymen. Were Aristides, St. Justin, Minu- 
cius Felix, Arnobius, and Lactantius, priests ? It is pro- 
bable that St. Prosper never embraced the ecclesiastical 
profession, and yet he defended the faith againt the errors 
of the semi- pelagians; the church daily quotes his works 
in support of her doctrines. When Nestorius circulated 
his heresy, he was combated by Eusebius, afterwards 
bishop of Dorylaeum, but who was at the time an advo- 
cate. Origen had not yet taken orders when he expound- 
ed the Scriptures in Palestine, at the solicitation of the 
prelates of that province themselves. Demetrius, bishop 
of Alexandria, who was jealous of Origen, complained of 
these discourses as an innovation. Alexander, bishop of 
Jerusalem, and Theocritus of Cesaraea, replied, " that it 
was an ancient and general custom in the church, for 
bishops to make use indiscriminately of persons possess 
ing piety and some talent for speaking." All ages have 
afforded similar examples. When Pascal undertook his 
sublime apology for Christianity ; when La Bruyere 
wrote with such eloquence against Free-thinkers ; when 
Leibnitz defended the principal tenets of the faith ; when 
Newton wrote the explanation of one of the sacred books ; 
when Montesquieu composed those exquisite chapters of 
his Spirit of the Laws, defending the religion of the Gos- 
pel, did any one ever think of asking whether they were 
priests ? Even poets have raised their voices in conjunc- 
tion with these powerful apologists, and the son of Racine 
has, in harmonious verses, defended that religion which 
inspired the author of Athaliah. 

But if it ever behoved laymen to take in hand this sa- 
cred cause, it must be by that species of apology which 
the author of the Beauties of Christianity has adopted — a 
kind of defence, which the mode of attack imperiously 
required, and which, considering the spirit of the age, was 



348 



ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS; 



perhaps the only one that could be expected to be attend- 
ed with any success. Such an apology could not in fact 
be undertaken by any but a layman. An ecclesiastic 
could not, without a manifest violation of propriety, have 
considered religion in its merely human relations, and have 
read so many calumnious satires, impious libels and ob- 
scure novels, for the purpose of refuting them. 

In truth, the critics who have advanced this objection, 
are fully aware how frivolous it is, but they hoped in their 
circuitous way to prevent the good effects that might re- 
sult from the book. They wished to raise doubts respect- 
ing the competency of the author, in order to divide the 
public opinion, and to alarm those simple minds which 
suffer themselves to be imposed upon by the apparent 
honesty of criticism. Let these timid consciences take 
courage ; or rather, let them fairly examine before they 
yield to alarm, whether the scrupulous critics, who ac- 
cuse the author of laying violent hands . on the censor \ 
who evince such extraordidary tenderness, such anxious 
solicitude for religion, be not men notorious for their 
contempt or their neglect of it. 

The second objection alleged against the Spirit of 
Christianity, has the same purpose as the preceding, but 
it is more dangerous, inasmuch as it tends to bewilder the 
ideas, to involve what is perfectly clear in obscurity, and 
in particular to mislead the reader with regard to the real 
object of the book. 

The same critics, with their wonted zeal for the inter- 
ests of religion, observe — " It is highly improper to treat 
of. religion under merely human relations, or to consider 
its literary and poetic beauties. This is inflicting a 
wound on religion herself; it is a debasement of her dig- 
nity, a removal of the veil of the sanctuary, a profanation 
of the sacred ark, &c. Why did not the author confine 
himself to theological arguments ? why has he not em- 



DEFENCE OF CHRISTIANITY. 34$ 

ployed that rigid logic, which introduces none but sound 
ideas into the heads of children, which confirms the Chris- 
tian in the faith, edifies the priest, and satisfies the 
teacher." 

This objection may be said to be the only one ad- 
duced by the critics ; it forms the ground- w©rk of all 
their censures, whether they treat of the subject, the plan 
or the details of the work. They never will enter into 
the spirit of the author, so that he might justly say — " You 
would suppose that the critic had sworn not to compre- 
hend the state of the question, or to understand any one of 
the' passages which he attacks."* 

The whole force of the argument, as to the latter part 
of the" 'objection, resolves itself to this — u The author has 
undertaken to consider Christianity in its relations to 
• poetry, the fine arts, eloquence and literature, he has more- 
over attempted to shew all the obligations which mankind 
owe to religion, in a moral, civil, and political point of 
view. Such being his plan, he has not produced a theo- 
logical work ; he has not defended what he never design- 
ed to defend ; he has not addressed readers to whom he 
never intended to address himself; he is therefore guilty 
of having done precisely what he meant to do." 

But, supposing that the author has accomplished his 
object, ought he to have sought that object ? 

This brings us back to the first part of the objection, 
so often repeated, that religion must not be considered with 
relation to merely human, moral and political beauties ; 
that is lessening its dignity, &c. &c. 

The author will endeavour to elucidate this principal 
point of the question in the succeeding paragraphs* 

I. In the first place, he has not attacked, but defended; 
he has not challenged, but accepted a challenge. This 
changes at once the state of the question and invalidates the 

* Montesquieu's Defence of the Sfiirit of the Law*. ' 



350 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECfS. 

censure. The author has not officiously taken upon him- 
self to extol a religion, hated, despised, and overwhelmed 
with ridicule by sophists. The Beauties of Christianity 
would certainly have been a very unseasonable work in 
the age of Louis XIV ; and the critic, who observes that 
Massillon would not have published such an apology, has 
pronounced an incontestible truth. Never would the 
author have thought of writing his book, had there not 
existed poems, novels, works of every kind, in which 
Christianity is held up to the derision of the readers. 
But since these poems, these novels, these works exist, it 
is necessary to vindicate religion against the sarcasms of 
impiety; since it has been so generally said and written, 
that Christianity is barbarpus, ridiculous, and an enemy to 
the arts and genius, it is of essential importance to demon- 
atrate that it is none of these ; and that what is represented 
as little, mean, destitute of taste, beauty and feeling, by 
the pen of scandal, may appear grand, noble, simple, dra- 
matic, and divine, under the pen of a religious writer. 

II. If it be not permitted to defend religion with re- 
ference to its human beauty ; if we ought not to use ouf 
endeavours to prevent ridicule being attached to its sub- 
lime institutions ; will not one side of this religion always 
remain unprotected. Against this side will all attacks 
be directed ; here you will be surprised without defence 
and ultimately perish. Had not this already nearly hap- 
pened? Was it not by means of ridicule and burlesque, 
that M. de Voltaire was enabled to shake the very founda- 
tions of the faith ? Would you answer licentious stories 
and absurdities with theological arguments and syllo- 
gisms ? Will formal argumentation prevent a frivolous 
age from being seduced by pointed verses, or kept back 
from the altars by the fear of ridicule ? Do you not 
know that with the French nation a don mot, an impious 
witticism; felix culpa, have more influence than volumes 



UEFENCfe Oj CK&ISTlANlTY. 351 

of sound reasoning and metaphysics ? Persuade youth 
that an honest man may be a christian without being a 
fool ; erase from their minds the idea that none butxapu- 
chins and simpletons can believe in religion, and your 
cause will soon be gained. It will then be the time, in 
order to secure your victory, to resort to theological rea- 
sonings ; but begin with making them read what you 
write. What you first stand in need of is a religious 
work that shall be what is termed popular. Would you 
conduct youi* patient in one single excursion to the top 
of a steep mountain, when he is scarcely able to crawl, 
shew him at every step varied and pleasing objects ; allow 
him to stop and gather the flowers that present themselves 
by the way, till proceeding from one resting-place to ano- 
ther, he will at last reach the summit. 

III. The author has not written his apology exclusive- 
ly for scholars, for christians > for priests, for doctors* ; he 
has written more particularly for persons of literary pur- 
suits and for the world. This has already been observed 
above, and may be inferred from the two preceding para- 
graphs. You do not set out from this point, if you con- 
stantly pretend to mistake the class of readers to whom 
the spirit of Christianity is especially addressed, and it is 
evident that you do not rightly comprehend the work. 
It was composed to be read by the most incredulous of 
literary men, by the gayest of the youthful votaries of 
fashion, with the same facility as the first turns over the 
leaves of an impious book, and the second, those of a 
dangerous novel. " Would you then," exclaimed these 
well-intended zealots in behalf of religion, " would you 
then make religion a fashionable thing?" Would to 

* And yet it is hot genuine Christians, nor the Doctors of the 
Sorbonne, but the philosophers, as we have already observed, 
that are so scrupulous ui regard to tfoe wofk* )8shis ought not to 
be forgotten. 



352 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS. 

God that this divine religion were the fashion, considering 
fashion taken in this sense, as signifying the opinion of 
the world ! This indeed might perhaps, to a certain de- 
gree, encourage private hypocrisy, but it is certain, on 
the other hand, that public morals would be gainers by it. 
The rich man would no longer exert his self-love to cor- 
rupt the poor, the master to pervert his servant, the father 
to give lessons in atheism to his children ; the practice of 
the forms of religion would lead to a belief in its doctrines, 
and with piety, the age of morals and of virtue would re- 
turn. 

IV. M. de Voltaire, when he attacked Christianity , 
w r as too well acquainted with the human mind, not to en- 
deavour to secure what is termed the opinion of the world: 
accordingly he exerted all his talents to make impiety a 
kind of bon ton. He accomplished his purpose, by ren- 
dering religion ridiculous in the eyes of frivolous persons. 
It is this ridicule that the author of the Beauties oj Chris- 
tianity has attempted to wipe away ; this is the aim of 
all his labours ; the object which should never be lost 
sight of, by those who would form an impartial judgment 
of his work. But has the author wiped away this ridi- 
cule ? That is not the question. You should ask : has 
he exerted all his efforts to counteract it ? Give him 
credit for what he has attempted, not for what he has 
actually accomplished. Permitte dlvis ctetra. He de- 
fends no part of his book but the idea which constitutes 
its ground-work. To consider Christianity in its relations 
with human society ; to shew what changes it has pro- 
duced in the reason and the passions of man ; how it has 
civilized the Gothic nations ; how it has modified the 
genius of the arts and of letters ; how it has directed the 
spirit and manners of the people of modern times ; in a 
word, to develope all the excellencies of this religion, in its 
relations poetical, moral, political, historical, &c. will al- 



DEFENCE OF CHRISTIANITY. 35S 

ways appear to the author one of the finest subjects for a 
work that can possibly be imagined. As to the manner 
in which he has executed his work, that he leaves others 
to determine. 

V. But this is not the place for affecting a modesty P 
which is always suspicious in modern authors, and which 
deceives nobody. The cause is too great, the interest 
too important not to authorise us to rise superior to all 
considerations of human delicacy and respect. Now, if 
the author counts the number of suffrages, and compares 
their weight, he cannot persuade himself that he has to- 
tally failed in the object of his book. Take an impious 
picture, place it beside a religious piece, composed on 
the same subject and borrowed from the Beauties of 
Christianity ; and you may venture to assert that the lat- 
ter, imperfect as it may be, will weaken the dangerous 
effects of the former. Such is the power of unadorned 
truth, when put in competition with the most brilliant 
falsehood ! M. de Voltaire, for example, has frequently 
diverted himself at the expense of the religious. Beside 
one of his caricatures place the part relative to the mission, 
that in which the orders of Hospitallers are represented 
relieving the traveller in the deserts, the chapter in which 
the monks are seen devoting themselves to the attendance 
on the infected, or accompanying the criminal to the 
scaffold : what irony will not be disarmed, what smile 
will not be converted into tears ? In answer to the 
charges of ignorance preferred against the religion of 
Christians, adduce the immense labours of those piou§ 
men who preserved the manuscripts of antiquity, and the 
works of Bossuet and Fenelon in reply to the accusations 
of bad taste and barbarism. With the caricatures of 
saints and angels, contrast the sublime effects of Christi- 
anity on the dramatic department of poetry, on eloquence 
and the fine arts ; and say whether the impression of ridi- 

* Yy 



354 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS. 

cule will long be able to maintain its ground. Had the author 
done nothing more than to set at ease the vanity of people 
of the world ; had his only success consisted in presenting 
to the view, of an incredulous age, a series of religious 
pictures without disgusting that age, still he would think 
that he had not been wholly unserviceable to the cause of 
religion. 

VI. Pressed by this truth which they have too much 
sense not to be sensible of, and which is, perhaps, the se- 
cret cause of their alarm, the critics have recourse to ano- 
ther subterfuge. '^Who," say they, " denies that Chris- 
tianity, like every other religion, has poetical and moral 
beauties ; that its ceremonies are pompous, &c." Who 
denies this ? — why you, yourselves, who but just now 
made sacred things the butt of your ridicule; you, who 
finding it impossible to reject convincing evidences, have 
no other resource than to assert, that nobody has attacked 
what the author defends. You now acknowledge that 
there are many excellent points in the monastic institu- 
tions. You are affected at the mention of the Monks of 
St. Bernard, the Missionaries of Paraguay and the Sisters 
of Charity. You admit that religious ideas are necessary 
for dramatic effects, that the morality of the gospel, at the 
same time that it opposes a barrier to the passions, puri- 
fies their flame and increases their energy. You allow 
that Christianity has preserved the arts and sciences from 
the inundation of the barbarians, and that this alone has 
transmitted down to your time the language and the works 
of Greece and Rome ; that it has founded your colleges, 
built or embellished your cities, attempered the despo* 
tism of your governments, drawn up your civil codes f 
mitigated your criminal laws, polished modern Europe, 
and even brought it into cultivation. Did you admit all 
this- before the publication of a work which is doubtless 



DEfENCE OF CHRISTIANITY. 355 

very imperfect, but which has, nevertheless, collected all 
these important truths into one single point of view ? 

VII. The tender solicitude of the critics for the purity 
of religion has already been remarked : it was, therefore, 
but natural to expect tljat they would protest against the 
two episodes which the author has introduced into his 
work. This scruple of the critics springs from the grand 
objection which they have urged against the whole work ; 
and it is destroyed by the general answer that lias just 
been given to this objection. Once more the author re- 
peats, that he had to combat impious poems and novels 
with religious poems and novels ; he grasped the same 
arms to which he saw his enemy have recourse : this was 
a natural and necessary consequence of the species of 
apology which he had adopted. He strove to furnish 
example combined with precept. In the theoretical part 
of his work, he asserted that religion embellishes our ex- 
istence, corrects without extinguishing the passions, and 
throws an extraordinary interest over all subjects in which 
it is employed. He said that its doctrine and its worship 
blend, in a wonderful manner, with the emotions of the 
heart and the scenery of nature ; finally, that it is the only 
resource in the great misfortunes of life. It was not 
sufficient to advance all these positions, it was necessary 
also that they should be demonstrated. This the author 
has attempted to do in the two episodes of his work. 
Th$se episodes were, moreover, a bait to allure that class 
of readers for which the work is especially designed* 
Was then the author so bad a judge of the human heart, 
when he laid this innocent snare for unbelievers ; and is 
it not probable that many a reader would never have 
opened the Beauties of Christianity had he not looked 
into the work of Rene and Atala ? + 

Sai che la corre il mondo ove piu versi 
Delle sue dolcezze il lusingher Parnasso, 
E che '1 verso, condito in molli versi, 
I piu schivi alletando, ha persuaso* 



556 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS. 

VIII. All that an impartial critic, who is willing to 
enter into the spirit of the work, has a right to expect of 
the author, is, that these episodes should have an obvious 
tendency to excite a love of religion and to demonstrate 
its utility. Now he would ask, is not # the necessity of 
monastic institutions shewn in certain disasters of life, and 
those in particular which are the most afflictive ? is not 
the power of a religion that alone can heal the wounds 
which all the balsams of the world are unable to cure, 
irrefragably proved in the History of Rene ? The author 
there combats, besides, the mania peculiar to the young 
people of the present day, that mania which leads directly 
to suicide. It was J. J. Rousseau who first introduced 
among us these reveries so vicious and so baneful. By 
secluding himself from society, and indulging himself in 
his fanciful dreams, he has led numbers of youth to ima- 
gine that there is something romantic in thus casting 
themselves into the uncertain ocean of life. Gothe's 
Werther has since developed this germ of poison. The 
author of the Beauties of Christianity, being obliged to 
introduce into his apology some pictures for the imagina- 
tion, was solicitous to denounce this new species of vice, 
and delineate the fatal consequences resulting from the 
love of solitude carried to excess. The convents former- 
ly afforded retreats for those contemplative minds whom 
Nature imperiously calls to meditation. They found in 
the society of their Maker wherewith to fill the void 
which they felt in their hearts, and often too an occasion 
to practise rare and sublime virtues. But since the de- 
struction of monasteries and the progress of infidelity, 
we must expect to see a species of recluses spring up a- 
mongst us (as has been the case in England) who are at 
once the slaves of passion and philosophers, who, incapa- 
ble alike of renouncing the vices of the age, and of loving 
that age, will take the hatred of their fellow- men for ele- 



DEFENCE OF CHB ISTI A1UTV , 357 

vation and genius, will renounce every duty, divine and 
human, will cherish in their retirement the vainest chime- 
ras and plunge deeper and deeper into a surly misanthro- 
py, leading either to madness or to the grave. 

In order to produce a stronger aversion for these 
criminal reveries, the author thought it right to take the 
punishment of Rene from that circle of calamities, not 
relating so much to him, individually, as to the whole 
family of man, and which the ancients ascribed to fatality, 
He could have chosen the subject of Phaedra, had it not 
been treated by Racine ; he had, therefore, nothing left 
but that of Europa and Thyestes* among the Greeks, or 
of Amnon and Tamarf among the Hebrews : and though 
this subject has likewise been introduced upon the stage, J 
it is less known than the former. Perhaps too it is the 
more applicable to the character which the author wishes 
to pourtray. In fact, the foolish reveries of Rene began 
the evil, and his extravagances completed it. By the 
former, he led astray the imagination of a feeble woman ; 
by the latter, he caused the unhappy creature to unite her 
fate with his. This unhappiness grows out of the sub- 
ject, and punishment is the consequence of guilt. 

It only remained to sanctify by Christianity an event 
which was, at the same time, borrowed from pagan and 
sacred antiquity. Even in this respect, the author had 
not every thing to do ; for he found the story, almost na- 
turalized as a christian one, in an old ballad by Pelerin, 
which the peasantry still sing in several parts of the 
country. § It is not by the maxims scattered through a 

* Sen. in Atr. ct Th. See also Canace and Macareus, and 
Caune and Byblis in Ovid's Metamorphoses and tfie Heroides, 
I rejected, as too abominable, the subject of Myrra, which reOirs 
in that of Lot and his daughters. 

f 2 Sam. XIIL 

| In the Abufarof M. Ducis. 

§ C'est le Chevalier des Landes, 
Malheureux chevalier, &c. 



558 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS. 

work, but by the strength of the impression which the 
"work leaves on the mind, that a person ought to judge of 
its morality. The sort of mysterious horror, which pre- 
vails in the episodes of Rene, closes and saddens the 
heart without exciting any criminal emotion. It should 
not escape observation, that Amelia dies happy and cured, 
while Rene dies miserable ; so that the person who is 
really culpable undergoes punishment which his too fee- 
ble victim, delivering her wounded soul into the hands of 
him who restored the sick man upon his bed, feels ineffa- 
ble delight arise even amidst the afflictions of her bosom. 
In other respects, the discourse of Father Souel leaves no 
doubt as to the moral and religious object of the story of 
Rene. 

IX. With respect to Atala, so many comments have 
been made, that reference to them all is out of the ques- 
tion. I will content myself with observing, that the 
critics, who have most severely censured this history, have 
uniformly acknowledged, that it rendered the christian 
religion attractive, and this is enough for the author. It 
is in vain that they object to particular descriptions. It 
appears to be no less true that the public has not been 
displeased with the old missionary, complete priest as he 
is, and that the description of our religious ceremonies, 
in the Indian episode, has given satisfaction. It was 
Atala who announced, and who perhaps caused the Beau- 
ties of Christianity to be read. This savage, awoke 
christian ideas in a certain class of mankind, and brought 
to that class the religion of Father Aubry, from the de- 
serts into which it had been banished. 

X. This idea of calling the imagination to the aid of 
religious principles is not new. Have we not had in our 
days the Count de Valmont, or the Wanderings of Ima- 
gination ? Has not Father Marin at least attempted to in- 
sinuate the truths of Christianity into the minds of the 



DEFENCE OF CHRISTIANITY. 359 

incredulous by disguising them under the veil of fiction ?* 
At a still more early period Peter Camus, bishop of 
Belley, a prelate remarkable for the austerity of his man- 
ners, wrote a vast number of pious romances! to oppose 
the influence of the romances issued by d'Urfe. Moreover, 
St. Francis himself advised him to undertake this species 
of apology, in pity to mankind, and hoping to call them 
back into the paths of Religion, by representing her in a 
dress known to them. In like manner Paul says : " To 
the weak became I as weak that I might gain the weak. "J 
Do those that condemn the author, wish him to have 
been more scrupulous than Father Marin, Pierce Camus, 
Saint Francis de Sales, Heliodorus,§ bishop of Trica, 
Amyot,|| Grand Almoner of France, or than another fa- 
mous prelate, who in giving lessons of virtue to a prince — 
yes, and a Christian prince did not scruple to represent 
the tumult of the passions with equal truth and energy ? 
It is true that Faidigt and Gueudeville reproached Fene- 
Ion with having depicted the loves of Eucharis, but their 
criticisms are forgotten. Telemachus is become a classic 
book for children, and no one now lays it to the charge 
of the archbishop of Cambray, that he wished to cure the 

* We have ten pious romances from his pen, scattered abroad. 
Their titles are Adelaide of Vitzburi, or the Pious Pensioner j 
Virginia, or the Christian Virgin ; Baron Van Hesden, or the 
Republic of the Incredulous ; Farfalla, or the Converted Actress.* 
&c. 

f Dorothea, Alcina, Daphnis, Hyacintlms, &c. 

| 1 Corinthians, chap. 9, verse 22. 

§ Author of Theagenes and Chariclea. It is known that the 
ridiculous story, reported by Nicephorus concerning this romance, 
is entirely destitute of truth, Socrates, Phocius and other authors 
do not say a word about the pretended deposition of the bishop of 
Trica. 

|| Translator of Theagenes and Chariclea, as well as of Daph- 
nis and Chloe. 



o60 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS* 

passions by a too warm display of them ; nor are &. 
Augustin and St. Jerome any longer reproached with hav- 
ing pourtrayed their own weakness and the charms of 
love in such vivid colours. 

XL But have these censors, (who doubtless know 
every thing, from the lofty tone in which they pass sen- 
tence on the author) really convinced themselves that this 
mode of defending religion, of rendering it soft and im- 
pressive, and of adorning it with the charms of poetry, 
was so very extraordinary a proceeding ? " Who will 
dare to assert, exclaimed St. Augustin, " that truth is to 
remain disarmed against falsehood, and that the enemies 
of our faith are to have the liberty of frightening the faith- 
ful by hard words, and gratifying them by agreeable re- 
citals, while the Catholics are only allowed to write with 
a coldness of style which makes their readers fall asleep 2 
It was a severe disciple of Port-Royal who translated this 
passage of St. Augustin, for it was Pascal himself, and 
he added to it that there are two things in the truths of 
our religion " a divine beauty which renders them amia- 
ble, and a sacred majesty which renders them venerable."* 
To demonstrate that rigorous examples are not always 
those which should be employed in matters of religion, 
he further statesf that the heart has its reasons which 
reason knows nothing about. The great Arnauld, % chief 
of a most austere school of Christianity, attacks the aca- 
demician of Blois, who also pretended that we ought not 
to avail ourselves of human eloquence to prove the truths 
of religion. Ramsay, in his life of Fenelon, speaking of 
the treatise on the existence of a God, by that illustrious 
prelate, says M. de Cambray knew that the defect of 

• Provincial Letters, L. II. 
f Reflections of Pascal, chap. 58, p. 170. 
\ In a little treatise, entitled Reflections on the eloquence of 
preachers. 



DEFENCE OF CHRISTIANITY. 361 

most unbelievers was not in their heads but in their hearts^ 
and that consequently it became requisite every where to 
inculcate sentiments, which tended to touch, to interest, 
and take possession of the heart.* Raymond de Sebonde 
has left a work, written soon afterwards, with the same 
views as the Beauties of Christianity. Montaigne under- 
took the defence of this author against those who assert 
that Christians are wrong in wishing to support their faith 
by human argument.! " It is faith alone," adds Mon- 
taigne, " which vividly and certainly comprehends the 
high mysteries of our religion. But we are not to infer 
from this truth, that it is otherwise than a most praise- 
worthy and excellent attempt to combine with the service 
of our faith the natural and human means which God has 
granted us. There is no occupation and no undertaking 
more worthy of Christian man than to aim, by all his 
studies and reflections, at embellishing, extending, and 
amplifying the truth of his creed.J 

The author would never end if he were to quote all the 
writers, who have been of his opinion as to the necessity of 
rendering religion attractive, and all the books, in which 
imagination, the fine arts, and poetry have been employed 
as the means of arriving at this object. An entire re- 
ligious order, remarkable for its piety, its amenity of man- 
ners, and knowledge of the world, was occupied during 
several ages with this sole idea. No species of eloquence 
can be interdicted by that wisdom which opens the mouths 
of the dumb, and loosens the tongues of little infants. 

A letter of St. Jerome has descended to us, in which, 
that father justifies himself for having employed Pagan 
erudition to defend the doctrine of Christianity. Would 
St. Ambrose have caused St. Augustin to become a 

* History of the Life of Fenelon. 

t Montaigne's Essays, v. 4, Book 2 5 chap. 12, 

\ Montaigne's Essays, Vol. 4, Book 2> chap. 12, 

Zz 



35-2 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS* 

member of our church, if he had not employed all the 
charms of elocution ? " Augustin, still quite enchanted 
with profane eloquence," says Rollin, " only looked in 
the sermons of St. Ambrose for the beauties of preaching, 
not for solidity of doctrine, but it was not in his power to 
separate them." And was it not upon the wings of ima- 
gination that St. Augustin, in his turn, was lifted up to 
the city of God ? This father has no difficulty in assert- 
ing that we ought to borrow the eloquence of the Pagans, 
leaving them their falsehoods, as Israel carried away the 
gold of the Egyptians without touching their idols, for 
the purpose of embellishing the holy ark.* It was a truth 
unanimously recognized by the fathers that it is right to 
call imagination in aid of religious ideas ; nay, these holy 
men even went so far as to think that God had availed 
himself of the poetic philosophy of Plato, to Lead the hu- 
man mind into a belief of Christianitv. 

XII. There is an historic fact, which incontestibly 
proves the strange blunders of the critics, who have 
thought the author guilty of innovation, as to the manner 
in which he has defended Christianity. When Julian, 
surrounded by his sophists, attacked religion with the 
weapons of ridicule, as has been done in our days ; when 
he forbade the Galileans to teach or even learn the Belles- 
Lettres,\ when he despoiled the altars of Christ, hoping 
thereby to shake the belief of the priests, or at least reduce 
them to a degraded state of poverty ; several of the faith- 
ful raised their voices to repel the sarcasms of impiety, 
and to defend the beauty of the Christian religion. Appol- 
lonarius the elder, according to the historian Socrates, 
rendered all the books of Moses into verse, and composed 
tragedies as well as comedies from other parts of scripture, 

* De D')ctr. chz. lib. l.n. 7. 

f Wc arc still in possession of Julian's Edict. Jul. p. 
Greg. Naz.or 3 cap. 4. Amm. lib, 22, 



DEFENCE OF CHRISTIANITY. 363 

Appollonarius the younger, wrote dialogues in imitation 
of Plato, conveying, in this form, the morality of the 
Evangelists, and the precepts of the Apostles. That fa- 
ther of the church too, Gregory of Nazianza, surnamed 
by the distinguished appellation of the theologian, com- 
bated the sophists with the weapons of poetry. He com- 
posed a tragedy on the death of Jesus Christ, which has 
descended to us. He explained in metre the doctrine 
and even the mysteries of the Christian religion.* The 
historian of his life positively affirms that ihis illustrious 
saint only used his poetic talent to defend Christianity a- 
gainst the derision of the impious,! and this is also the 
opinion of the sage Fleury. " Saint Gregory," says he, 
" wished to give those, who were fond of poetry and mu- 
sic, useful subjects for their diversion, and not to leave 
the Pagans the advantage of believing that they were the 
only people who could succeed in the belles-lettres. 

This species of poetic apology for religion has been 
continued, almost without interruption, from the time of 
Julian to our own. It gave a new impulse to the revival 
of letters. Sannazarius wrote his poem de partle Fir- 
ginisy and Vida his Christiad, or Life of Christ.f Bu- 
chanan gave to the public his tragedies of Jephtha, and 
Saint John the Baptist. The Jerusalem Delivered, the 
Paradise Lost, Poiyeuctes, Esther and Athalia have since 
abundantly demonstrated the beauties of religion. Bos- 
suet in the second chapter of his preface, entitled De 
Grandiloquentia et suavitate Psalmorwn, Fleury, in his 

* The Abbe de Billy has collected a hundred and forty-sevea 
poems by this father, to whom St. Jerome and Suidas attribute 
more than thirty thousand sacred lines. 

t Naz. vit. p. 12. 

\ From which this line, on the last sigh of Christ, has been 
attained : 

Sujiremamcfue auram fionens cafiut* e&fiiravit, 



£64 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS. 

Treatise on Sacred Poetry, Rollin, in his chapter on the 
Eloquence of Writing, and Lowth, in his excellent work 
De sacra poesi Hebrceorum, have all found pleasure in 
admiring the grace and magnificence of religion. But 
why should I quote so many examples, when any one's 
good sense will point out to hirn the truth of what I ad- 
vance. Though attempts have been made to prove reli- 
gion ridiculous, it is quite easy to shew that it is beauti. 
ful. But to go higher still than I have yet done, God 
himself caused his worship to be announced by divine 
poets. In order to pourtray the charms of wedlock, he 
used the mellifluous tones of the royal prophet's harp. 
Are we then now incapable of describing her beauty, 
who came from Lebanon,* who looketh from the top of 
Shenir and Hermon,f who looketh forth as the morning,;}: 
who is as fair as the Moon,$ and whose stature is like to 
a palm-tree ?[| The new Jerusalem, which St. John saw 
descending out of Heaven from God, was of radiant 
splendour, " her light was like unto a stone most preci- 
ous."H 

Sing nations of the Earth \ Jerusalem 
Rises with renovated greater pomp.* 

Yes, let us fearlessly sing the praises of this sublime 
religion. Let us defend it against derision ; let us im- 
part their full weight to its beauties, as in the time of 
Julian, and when similar insults are offered to our altars, 
let us employ against the modern sophists the same sort 
of apology which Gregory and the Appollinarii used a- 
gainst Maximus and Libanius. 

* Come with me from Lebanon, my spouse, Solomon's Song 3 
chap. 4, ver. 8. 

f Ibid. ibid. \ Solomon's Song, chap. 6, ver. 10. 

§ Ibid. ibid. \\ Solomon's Song, chap. 7, ver. 7. 

% Revelations, chap. 21, ver. 11. * Atlmlia. 



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